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i'«ixa«XSXXXsX:3iXM|fpM^^ 










Mrs. SOUTHWORTH’S WORKS 

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EACH IS IN ONE LARGE DUODECIMO VOLUME, CLOTH, GILT, AT $1.50 EACH, OR $64.50 A SET. 
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The 7 norals of her stories are excellent — calculated to do good to all reade 7 's, j 
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new edition of Mrs. Southzvorth' s works is just ready in duodecimo 
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of this talented American Authoress, Airs. Emma D. E. N. Soiithworth. 

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Family Doom; 


OE, 


THE SIN OF A COUNTESS. 


BY 






MRS. EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHWORTII. 


MISSING bride/' ^‘A BEAUTIFUL FIEND, 


>> €t 

9 » i( 




AUTHOR OF “ SELF-MADE, “ ISHMAEL/' ** SELF-RAI.SED/' '•FAIR PLAY," ** VIVIA, 


CHANGED brides/' ^^KKTUIBUTION,' 


** HOW HE WON her/' ** A NOBLE LORD," ** BKIDE's FATE," FALLEN PKIDE/' 


‘'lady of the isle," “cruel as the grave," “allwokth abbey," 


GVl'^Y S PROPHECY, 


LOST HEIRESS, 


WIDOW S SON, 


INDIA, 


“three beauties," “bride of LLEWELLYN," “BRIDAL EVE. 


“ DISCARDED DAUGHTER," “ FATAL SECRET," “tWO SISTERS,' 


If 


CURSE OF CLIFTON, 


PHANTOM WEDDING, 


TRIED 

4t 


FOR HER LIFE, 


LOVE S LABOR WON, 


“ FORTUNE SEEKER," “ FATAL MARRIAGE,' 


“ MOTHRR-IN-LAW," “CHRISTMAS GUEST," 


** MAIDEN WIDOW," “ WIFe'S VICTORY*" 


S’ 3^ 


When the noon shall be midnight, and eve shall be morn. 
And the child shall be christened before it is born ; 

Then the sin shall be pardoned — the curse shall be dead. 


.V 


» 1 

\ 

PHILADELPHIA: I 

T. B. PETEESON & BROTHERS; ' 
300 CIIESTRUT STREET. 



copYRionT 1888 . 

fT. :b. i^:E:'X’3siLSOTsr & 




MRS. EMMA D. K N. SOUTHWORTH’S WORKa 

EACH WORK iS COMPLETE IN ONE LARGE DUODECIMO VOLUME, 


TSHMAEL; or, IN THE DEPTHS. {Being Self-Made.) 
SELF- BA TSED ; or, FROM THE DEPTHS. Secpiel to hhmael 
THE MOTHER-IN-LA Wf or, MABlilED IN HASTE. 
THE PHANTOM WEDDING; or, Fall of IJmse of Flinl. 
THE MISSING BRIDE; <rr, MIRIAM, THE AVENGER. 

A BEAUTIFUL FIEND; or, THROUGH THE FIRE. 
VICTORS TRIUMPH. A Sequel to Beautiful Fiend.*' 
THE FATAL MARRIAGE; or, Orville Dcville. 

FAIR PLAY; or, BRITOMARTE, the MAN HATER. 

HO W HE WON HER. A Sequel to ‘Pair Play." 

THE CHANGED BRIDES; or, Winning Her Wag. 

THE BRIDE’S FA TE. Sequel to “The Changed Brides." 
CRUEL AS THE GRAVE; or, Hallma-Eve Mynirry. 

TRIED FOR HER LIFE. A Sequel to “Cruel as the Grave." 
THE CHRISTMAS GUEST; or, The Crbne and the Curse. 
THE LADY OF THE ISLE; or, The Island Prineess. 
THE LOST HEIR OF LINLITHGOW; or. The BuHhers. 

A NOBLE LORD. Sequel to “The Lost Heir of Linlithqov)." 
THE FAMILY DOOM; or, the SIN OF A COUNTESS. 
THE MAIDEN WIDOW. Sequel to “The Family DoovU* 
THE GIPSY S PROPHECY; or, The Bride of cm livening. 
THE FORTUNE SEEKER; or, A.-^frea, the Bridal Day. 

THE THREE BEA UTIES; or, Shannondale. 

ALL WORTH ABBEY; or, Eudora. 

FALLEN PRIDE; or, THE MOUNTAIN GIRL’S LOVE. 
INDIA; OJ-, THE PEARL OF PEARL RIVER. 

VIVIA; or, THE SECRET OF POWER. 

THE WIDOW’S SON; or, Left Alme. 

THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER; or, The Children of the Idc. 
THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS; or, Hickory Halt. 

THE BRIDAL EVE; or, Rose Elmer. 

BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. A Sequel to “Widow’s Sori." 
THE DESERTED WIFE. HAUNTED HOMESTEAD. 

THE LOST HEIRESS. THE SPECTRE LO VER. 

, THE WIFE’S VICTORY. THE FATAL SECRET. 
THE CURSE OF CLIFTON. THE TWO SISTERS. 
THE ARTISTS LOVE. LOVES LABOR WON. 

MYSTERY OF DARK HOLLO W. RETRIB UTION 

Above Books are Bound in Morocco Cloth. Price $1.75 Each. 


Airs. Southworih’s works are for sale by all Booksellers, or copie* 
of any one, or more of them, will be sent to any one, postage p'epaid, or 
free of freight, on remitting the price, of the ones uurited, to the publishers 
T. B. PETERSON >£• BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pci 



CONTENTS. 


Chapter. Pape 

I. — AGAINST WIND AND WAVE 21 

II. — STORM-BOUND 30 

III. — WIDOWVILLE 51 

IV. — THE OLD man’s TALE G4 

V.— FATAL LOVE 81 

VI.— THE OLD PRIEST OF ST. ROSALIE 83 

VII. — WITCHCRAFT 100 

VIII. — IIALCYONE 105 

IX. — FATE 120 

X. — MYSTERY 140 

XL — BERENICE HEARS HER FATE 153 

XII.— PINKY SKINNER 15S 

XIII. — HOW THE captain’s REST WAS BROKEN 178 

XIV. — COUNTRY SPORTS 102 

XV. — THE STRAW RIDE 204 

XVL— THE STJRPRISE PARTY 227 

XVII.— IN A LOVE SC^IAPE ; 245 

XVIIT. — NEWS 255 

XIX.— VANE DEMANDS THE SECRET 260 

XX.— THE CENTENARIAN ‘ 279 




( 21 ) 


22 


CONTENTS 


Chapter Pag* 

XXI.~A TALE TOLD BY NIGHT 2S9 

xxiL— vane’s last resolve 295 

XXIII.—TERllIBLE CBAEGES... 30 

XXIV. — THE NIGHT 319 

XXV. — AN UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER 833 

XXVI.— BISHOP WALDEM AB 841 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


CHAPTER I. 

AGAINST WIND AND WAVE. 


All day with fruitless strife they toiled. 

With eve the ebbino; current boiled, 

More fierce from strait and lake; 

And midway through the channel met 
Conflicting tides that foam and fret, 

And high their mingled billows jet. 

As spears that, in the battle set. 

Spring upward as they break. 

Then, too, the lights of eve were past, 

And louder sang the western blast 
On rocks so gray and hoar : 

Rent was the sail and strained the mast, 

And many a leak was gaining fast, 

And the pale steersman stood aghast 
And gave the conflict o’er. — S cott. 

It was near the close of a cold December day a few 
years since that the little coasting clipper “ Carrier/’ Cap- 
tain Tom Storms master, was cleaving its course through 
wave and weather down along the western shore of Chesa- 
peake Bay. 

The Carrier was a tidy little brigantine, owned by heir 
captain, and doing a brisk little independent business of 
her own in a circumscribed space — trading between the rich 
plantations along the Chesapeake and its tributaries, and 
their nearest city markets — Alexandria, Georgetown and 
Washington, oi Baltimore, or Annapolis. 

She w'as now returning from Baltimore, where she had 
lately delivered a cargo of tobacco, Indian corn and wheat, 

( 21 ) 


22 T H E F A M I L Y D O O M . 

and she was bringing back a miscellaneous assortment of 
dry goods, groceries, hardware, and so forth, consigned tc 
countrj'- tradesmen along the coasts, or to w’ealthy liouse- 
holders who bought their provisions by wholesale from the 
city merchants. 

All this merchandize w’as safely stowed away in the hold. 
The deck was clean and clear of all encumbrances except 
coiled ropes, folded sails and other necessary rigging, neatly 
put up. 

The Carrier had also a clean little cabin, which did double 
duty as dining room and dormitory. Its centre was occu- 
pied by a good-sized round table, and its sides by sleeping- 
berths — three on each hand. At one end was the stairs 
that led up to the deck, and at the other end the beaufet in 
which the captain kept his choice liquors. 

This cabin could accommodate, besides the captain and 
his mate, four passengers, and Captain Tom Storms took 
all the passengers he could possibly procure; and not so 
much for the profit of their cdns as for the pleasure of their 
company ; for the merry master of the Carrier was of an 
exceedingly social turn; and would have taken up w^ith 
‘^trumpery,’’ having no better company. 

Now, however, on this blustering winter afternoon there 
was but one passenger belonging to the cabin, and he was 
on deck. 

He stood aft, leaning carelessly against the taffrail, gaz- 
ing forward dowm the bay, and exchanging an occasional 
W'ord with the helmsman. 

As he takes a prominent part in this story, he must have 
a description. 

He was a j'oung nian of about twenty-five years of age ’ 
yet he had the lodk of one who had lived much longer than 
that. He was of the medium height ; of slender, elegant 
and graceful figure ; but without the slightest fault of 
effeminacy. His features w'ere of perfect beauty. The 


AGAINST WIND AND WAVE. 23 

higlu proud forehead, the straight, fine nose, the short, 
curved upper lip, the well-turned chin and stately throat, 
could only have been equalled by some poet-sculptor’s ideal 
of the young Apollo. This fine face was darklj^ broinzed as 
by long exposure to a torrid sun, and deeply shaded by 
masses of jet-black curling hair that drooped about his 
temples and neck, long, soft and shining as the ringlets of 
a girl. But the most remarkable and most attractive fea- 
ture were a pair of large, dark, most mournful eyes, whose 
wistful gaze would have haunted you long, had you ever 
happened to meet it. 

He wore a w^eather-suit, a coarse gray blouse and loose 
trousers ; and a broad-brimmed grey felt hat, now useless 
to him, because of the high w'inds, he carried in his hand, 
leaving his head bare, except for the beautiful black ringlets 
tliat were lifted and tossed with every blast. 

This stranger, when in repose, seemed pervjtfled with an 
air of the profoundest melancholy. And looking on him 
you would be filled with pity and with wonder and conjec- 
ture, as to what could be the nature of the sorrow that had 
so deeply overshadowed his life. 

But the moment he moved, or spoke, or was spoken to, 
this mood was easily and entirely thirown olf, and he talked, 
laughed, jested and enjoyed a jest, with the merriest of the 
merry. 

Long evenings he was used to sit in the little cabin with 
the Captain, smoking cigars, sipping punch, laughing at old 
Storms’s sea jmrus, or spinning him equivalent ones, which 
lie pointed wnth such richness of humor, in lo^k, tone, ges- 
ture and pantomime, that the old salt’s ear-splitting peals 
of laughter might be heard above the roaring of the winds 
and waves. 

And on these or like occasions, one w'ould wonder and 
speculate whether the stranger’s profoundly melancholy 
moods were not a mere matter of inheritance along with his 


24 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


large dark eyes, and long black curls, meaning no more 
than these. 

But take him for all in all ” you could not have looked 
upon him with indifference, or talked with him without 
deep interest. 

He w«as now standing, I said, leaning with his back to 
the taffrail, and gazing forward down the bay, and exchang- 
ing an occasional word with the helmsman. 

The water view was rather worth looldng at. The clouds 
that had overcast the whole sk}^ all day long, like a dark 
lead-colored pall, now drew up a little way above the wes- 
tern horizon, showing a long back ground of brilliant 
golden sunset light, in which the distant objects looked pre- 
ternaturally distinct. 

The stranger’s gaze was fixed upon a far distant point 
running out from the Western shore into the bay. 

Presently he drew a small telescope from his pocket, ad- 
justed it and raised it to his eye. He looked long and wist- 
fully at that distant point and then lowering his glass, 
turned to the helmsman and inquired 

“ What place is that ? » 

*‘That? Why, the mouth of Henniker’s Creek. It 
looks mighty near now in that light, which throws things 
forward so ; but, Lord bless your soul, it’s miles and miles 
away yet ; and I shouldn’t wonder, if this ’ere head wind 
holds, as we don’t make it to-night,” said the man. 

Henniker’s Creek?.’ But I am speaking of that 
point which stretches so far out to sea.” 

^‘Aye! That’s Henniker’s Point. We have to round 
that to go up the Creek — that is, when we do go there. 
We ain’t agoing this time ; we haint no business there.” 

“There is a house — a very fine one, if I mistake not — in 
among the trees, a little back. I see its chimneys rising 
above their tops,” said the stranger, with his glass again to 
his eye. 


AGAINST WIND AND WAVE. 


25 


‘‘‘Yes, sirj that’s Widowwille.” 

Tliat’s — what ? ” demanded the young man, dropping 
his glass and turning sharply around. 

“ Widowwille, sir,” calmly repeated the sailor. 

“ Widow ” 

— WilU. Yes, sir. Property of old Madam Jernyng* 
ham, sir.” 

Widowville, did you say ? ” 

Yes, sir — that’s it.” 

What an extraordinary name ! ” 

Well, sir, it is ; and that’s a fact.” 

“ Who gave it that name ? ” 

Xot it’s ‘ sponsors in babtism,’ as the kittychism says ; 
for, to tell the truth, I don’t think as the old place ever was 
christened, or even christianized. But, sir, you know as 
there is some places names themselves, — like ^Bloody 
Run,’ and ‘ Gallows Hill,’ and such. Hot to say as Wid- 
owwille basil t another name a.s was given it. Henniker 
House is w’hat it is called down in the dockerments.” 

“ ‘ Henniker House ? ’ An old family property perhaps. 
An old colonial estate, probably, dating back to the days of 
Baron Baltimore and the earliest settlement of the country.” 

“ ^ Pears so, sir. Leastwise, I’ve often heerd my grand- 
father say so.” 

“ You are from these parts ? ” 

Lord love yon, 3ms, sir ! I’ve been ’long 0’ the cap’n, 
man and boy, ship and shore, these fifty years.” 

Then the captain is from this section ? ” 

“ In course he is, sir. He’s got a plantation 3mnder 
’bout ten miles below Henniker. Leastways, the 
brothers’ have. Mr. Dickson Storms, he works it. The 
captain, he took to the sea though he was the oldest brother. 
But, Lord love 3^0, sir, every other man you meet along 
these shores is a seafaring man j and the rest are everlast- 
ing a hankering arter it.” 


26 


T H E FAMILY DOOM. 


“Tliat is apt to be the case with a coast population,” 
remarked the stranger. 

At this moment the sun sank below the lowest layer of 
-clouds, lighting up the long line of Henniker’s point, and 
throwing out every object into almost magical distinctness. 

“ A splendid scene ! What a picture for an artist I ” 
said the stranger, with enthusiasm. 

“ It is a fine property, sir — a fine property, even now ! ” 
remarked the more practical mariner. “ There’s more’n 
two thousand acres on’t. Ko better soil in lower Maryland. 
Woods full of game, too, and waters full of fish.” 

It is an old Maryland Manor, no doubt, — an old Colo- 
nial Manor, of which so few are remaining now in their 
integrity,” said the stranger, meditatively. Henniker’s 

Creek — Henniker’s Point — Henniker’s House ” 

And Henniker’s Hamlet as well, sir,” added the sailor. 

“ All Henniker’s,” smiled the stranger. 

Yes, sir ; and not a Henniker left alive to claim a inch 
on it.” 

‘‘No?”. 

“No, And what’s more, not a man alive as ever 

remembers to have seen a living Henniker, or even to have 
seen any one else who had seen one,” said the sailor, mj^s- 
teriously. 

“ No ? How is that ? ” 

“ Well, sir, they do say But I’d better hold my jaw, 

I reckon. Least said soonest mended.” 

“At any rate the manor has passed away from the 
Hennikers?” 

“ Ages ago, sir, more than a century ago, if all they tell 
is true.” 

“ And it is now in the possession of ” 

“The widow Jernynghara — yes, sir.” 

“And that is the reason it is called Widowvdle ? ” 

“ Well no, sir j not that exactly. There’s a many place 


AGAINST WIND AND WAVE. 


27 


might be called Widowville — if being owned by a widow 
would make it sich.” 

Then why ’’ began the stranger ; but suddenly he 

remembered he was asking questions, and he paused. 

You want to know why it’s called Widowwille ? — why 
now, if you knowed a house where there was three live 
w'idows, of three generations, like tliree steps, straight down 
from mother to darter and grandarter, wouldn’t you think 
it was justifiable homicide to call the place Widowwille 
arter so many widows ? ” 

should think it justifiable. But are there so many 
widows at Ilenniker?” 

Woman’s Bights and Petticoat Government reigns 
there, sir, you may take my davy for it.” 

Well ? ” 

“Well, first there’s old Madam Jernyngham as I told 
you on, mistress of the manor. She is aged seventy, and is 
as brisk as a bee, as busy as a beaver. Then there’s her 
darter, Mistress Dering, the proudest w'oman in Mar^dand, 
aged fifty-four. Then there’s her darter agin. Mrs. 
Brooke, a handsome woman of thirty-six. Them’s the 
three widows as gives Widowwille its nick-name. And 
then there, last of all, is ^ Beauty.’ ” 

“‘Beauty?’” 

“ Yes, sir, ‘ Beauty,’ Berenice, Miss Brooke, darter of 
Mrs. Brooke, grandarter of Mrs. Dering, and great-grand- 
darter of old Mrs. Jernyngham, heiress in right of all her 
foremothers to Henniker, and heiress in right of all her 
forefathers, to no end of land and of niggers, and of houses 
on shore and ships at sea.” 

“Beauty and heiress — she is equally favored by nature 
and by fortune. Her’s is a brilliant destiny,” said the 
stranger. 

“Aint it though, sir, — lor! some people have white 
bread cut thick and buttered on both sides like Berenice 


28 


T II E FAMILY DOOM. 


Brooke ! And some have brown bread sliaved tbin, with 
no butter at all, like my darter Sukey — she who has neither 
good looks nor j’^et good money to carry her through the 
world. If I was to die to-morrow, she’d have to go out to 
service, so she would.’^ 

Here the voice of the captain was heard on deck. 

‘‘Take in the fores’il there, boys! Look alive now I 
We’re going to have the devil to pay here presently \ ” 

Then hurrying aft, he snatched the helm from the hand 
of the helmsman, exclaiming, as he turned it and altered 
the course of the vessel : 

“ What the are you about Jack ? Letting your 

tongue run before your wits, and the craft drive on to des- 
truction ? Don’t you see that sandbar aliead ? In five 
minutes \ou would have had her aground! Go forward 
and help them with that sail.” 

Crest-fallen the old sailor saluted his captain, and 
W’alked forward to obey orders. 

With an anxious countenance, and with earnest atten- 
tion, the captain held the helm in silence until he had 
steered the vessel clear of the impending danger. 

Then, when they had left tlie sandbar far to leeward, and 
the captain was “ taking it easy,’’ the stranger who had 
felt somewhat guilty in allowing old Jack to bear all the 
blame, turned to apologize. 

“ I beg pardon ! it was not the old man’s fault — it was 
really mine, for talking to him ” he began. 

But Captain Storms stopped him. 

‘‘ Oh, no apologies ! That old idiot never can do more 
than one thing at a time. Lor instance, he can’t talk and 
steer at the same moment.” 

“ Can anj'- one ? ” 

“Yes; I can, except when we are in danger. Then all 
my attention is required to mind the helm. You were 
talking of the young heiress of Henniker as I came up ? ” 


A G A I S T WIND A N I) W AYE. 


29 


Yes, I was observing how brilliant was the destiny of 
a young lady so highly favored by nature and by fortune 
as to be both beauty and heiress at the same time.’^ 

Yes, poor girl,’’ sighed the captain. 

Foot girl ?” exclaimed the stranger, opening his great 
black e^^es in astonishment. 

Ah yes, poor child ! poor child ! Beauty and an heiress 
as she is, she might gladly change places with the plainest 
and poorest girl in Maryland ! 

“ But why ? You amaze me I Is she not happy ? 
HTappy ? The young, I believe, dream of love and of 
marriage as their best earthly bliss. It is right and it is 
natural that they should do so. Kow could you be happy if 
you knew that, blessed with beauty and with wealth, you 
were still forbidden all hope of love or of marriage, and 
doomed to wear out your life in solitude ? Tell me that ! ” 

“No, certainly I could not be happy under such a dread- 
ful doom. But is this fate to be hers?” exclaimed the 
stranger in a tone and with a look in which amazement, 
incredulity, and curiosity were all expressed. 

“Assuredly, it is her fate. She cannot marry, she ought 
not to marry, since marriage, for her, would be crime.” 

“ But why ? What ails the girl, that she must not 
marry ? ” 

“ Young man, I said just now that Berenice Brooke, 
beauty and heiress, might gladly change places with the 
plainest and poorest girl in Marjdand. And now I tell 
you further, that I have a son, who is the last of his race ; 
but I would rather that son should die unmarried, and my 
race should become extinct, than that he should marry the 
beautiful, amiable, and accomplished young heiress of Hen- 
niker/^ said the captain, solemnly. 

“ And yet there need be no mystery in that ! Your ob- 
jection might well arise from some family feud, or individ- 
ual pique.” 


80 


THE FAMILY D O O M. 


at all. My family and that of Hennikerhave been 
neighbors and friends for generations. The ladies of Hen- 
niker are my very kind customers and I would almost die 
to serve them. I would do anything for them except marry 
mj” son to their daughter — a measure by the way to which 
thv'y would not be likely to consent.’’ 

“ Of course, now that my first surprise has passed, I am 
able to reflect that there really ma}^ exist omnipotent rea- 
sons why even a beauty and an heiress may not marry. A 
vein of hereditary insanity, for instance,” suggested the 
stranger, in a rather inquiring tone ; for he was full of 
curiosity and interest, though he forbore to press direct 
questions. 

Captain Storms laughed. 

“Well,” he said, “for strong brains, firm nerves, and 
sound, well-balanced minds, I will pit that family of women 
against the world. Wh^", they never become delirious in 
the highest fevers, and they never lose their presence of 
mind under any circumstances of surprise or trial. No, 
no ! no vein of insanity there ! You must guess again, my 
young friend.” 

There may be a taint of scrofula, or other hereditary 
disease,” suggested tlie stranger. 

Again Captain Storms laughed aloud — 

“ Why sir, some doctors tell us that nine-tenths of the 
whole population of the United States are more or less 
infected with scrofula, in some one, or other of its multifa- 
rious forms. But I can tell you this ; that the ladies of 
Henniker belong to the tenth-ienth who are not infected. 
They are perfectly ‘ sound in wind and limb’ as ^mu say of 
horses. They never die of anything but old age, and not 
soon of that. Why look at the old madam ! Seventy 
years old, without a gray hair in her head, or an unsound 
tooth in her mouth ; brisk as any weasel and busy as a bee. 
No, there is nc inherited inalad}^ of mind or of body. No, 


AGAINST WIND AND WAVE. 


81 


you must look farther for the cause, why the beautiful Ber- 
enice Brooke, heiress of Henniker can not marry. 

The stranger reflected a moment and then said : 

“ Perhaps the conditions of her heirship may be such, 
that she cannot marry under it, or if she does, she may for- 
feit her estate.” 

“ Bosh ! would that keep any girl from marrying suppos- 
ing she wished to do so ? ” 

‘‘ No, I think not.” 

Of course not ! Besides didn’t you hear me say that 
she might be glad to change places with the poorest and 
plainest girl in Maryland? Why should I have said that, 
if in order to marry she need only to make herself poor, 
and not plain ?” 

“ Why, indeed ? ” 

“ So you see it is not that either.” 

“ It is an enigma ! ” 

“ Of course it is ; to you ; but none at all to the poor 
child, a victim without any fault of her own.” 

A victim ! Oh ! I have it now ! You are a Catholic 
community down here. She is pledged to the church, poor 
girl ! She is doomed to be a nun ! ” 

Now that is the weakest conjecture you have made j^et 
my boy ! Her family are Catholics, but not devotees. 
There never was a priest or a nun among them. And she 
has not, and never has had, the most remote idea of taking 
the veil.” 

“ Then, I have but one more conjecture to offer. She has 
perhaps already, one husband. — Some fortune-hunting 
scamp, who married her privately while she was at school 
and has since run away or got himself into prison, or some- 
thing of the sort, eh? That theory would cover all the 
grounds ! That would make it a crime for her to marry 
again ! eh ? ” 

Yes, if it were true ; but it is utterly false. The hand 


82 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


and heart of Berenice Brooke are, as I truly believe; 
entirely free. I have known her from her infancy. She 
has alwaj^s lived at home, and has seen almost as few of our 
sex as the sleeping beauty herself.’’ 

‘‘Then T give it up ! — No, I don’t either! Now I have 
it I ” exclaimed the young man, with sudden exultation. 

“ Well, let’s hear it,” said the captain, incredulouslj". 

“ There is a misfortune that you here hold in more abhor- 
rence than the blackest crime. It is the cross of the Afri- 
can blood. Now, if there should be the faintest suspicion 
of the slightest streak of this blood in the young lady’s 
veins, of course it would ruin all her hopes and prospects 
of intermarriage with the pure white race ! ” 

While his passenger spoke thus, the captain gazed on 
him in mute amazement. When the 3mung man ceased, 
the captain found his tongue and burst forth : 

“ You — I If 3’ou were to breathe that thought down 
yonder, in her neighborhood, I would not give a ha’penny 
for 3mur life 1 She — she — a daughter of the house of Hen- 
niker, with African blood in her veins !” 

“ A million of pardons ! But I was driven to the last 
possible conjecture for a reason. You tell me of a 3'oung 
lady of long descent, of high famil}’’, of great wealth, of 
amiable disposition, cultivated intellect, and immaculate 
reputation ; sound in mind and body ; free in heart and 
hand; beautiful in person; lovely in spirit; and yet who 
with all these incentives to love and marriage, must be 
doomed to single wretchedness, because, forsooth, in her 
case, love would be folly and marriage crime. Unless you 
are pla^dng upon my supposed credulity I do not know 
what you- mean,” said the young man, fixing his large dark 
e^^es upon the face of the skipper. 

“ No ; and \mu never Will know w'hat I mean unless I tell 
you. How should you, indeed ? I am a, prosaic old fellow, 
not given to the marvellous, yet even upon me the strange, 


AGAINST WIND AND WAVE. 


83 


tinaccountable, unmerited doom that has fallen upon the 
beautiful daughters of the house of Henniker has had its 
etfect,*’ said old Storms, heaving a deep sigh as he ceased 
to speak. 

There was silence between them for awhile — silence only 
interrupted by the swashing of the waves against the sides 
of the ship, and the whistling of the wind among the 
shrouds — silence which the young stranger did not care at 
once to break. The sun was sinking below the horizon, 
and drawing down with it the splendidly illuminated pic- 
ture of Henniker’s Point and Creek. The 3’'oung stranger 
fixed his mournful dark e\'es upon the fading glor^’ and 
watched it until it disappeared in darkness. He was 
dreaming of the fatal mystery that overshadowed the house 
and its race, and wondering what it could be. Night closed 
in, gloomj’’ and threatening, over the scene. Then the 
young vo^'ager turned to his companion and said : 

1 think 3'ou promised to tell me the secret of the house 
of Henniker.” 

Yes, I did,” said the captain, taking his pipe from his 
mouth, clearing his throat, and preparing to begin. 

The stranger turned towards his companion an anxious 
and attentive face, from which his large ev^es glowed in the 
darkness as with a light of their own. 

Go on,” he said. 

is a terrible thing to tell — Pm blowed if it aint ! 
Hard old salt as I am, I never can think of it, much less 
speak of it, without a shiver. It aint known to many peo- 
ple — only to a few of the old folks, friends of the famil}-, 
like me, ^mu know, who don’t want to talk about it. And 
I say to you plainlj”, I would not tell you, only I have a 
sort of fancy for yon, and then again I know jmu’re only a 
bird of passage — here to-day and gone to-morrow — never 
likely to come backj and yon will listen to this strange 
story as you have listened to many other wonderful tales in 

2 


84 


THE E A 1^1 I I. Y DOOM. 


your waiiclerings through tlie world j things that you hare 
heard and forgotten — that have gone in at one ear and out 
at the other, as the saying is.’^ 

Tlie young traveller hewed in silence. But he did not 
think he should so soon forget the interest inspired by the 
unrevealed mystery that overshadow'ed the fate of tlie fair 
women of Hen niker. 

“Even to you I feel a sort of reluctance to tell the 
secret,” said the captain hesitatingly and peering through 
the darkness at his companion, as if in the hope and expec- 
tation that his fellow-voyager would he generous, and 
release him from his promise to relate the mystery. 

But the young man was now curious, not generous, and 
he would not open his lips for the desired purpose. So old 
Storms had nothing to do hut to proceed with his story. 

“ I feel as if it was a sort of treason to the family to 
speak of these matters at all. I hardly know how I was 
led into doing it,” he began. 

“ By your love of gossip, old friend,” mentally interpo- 
lated the young man. 

“Any way,” continued the captain, “I tell you only for 
the reasons I gave. You aie a stranger, who certainly 
never did, and probably never wdll set foot on Henniker. 
But I w'ould die before I would tell the story to any one 
who would be likely to go babbling of it all over the neigh- 
borhood.” 

“ There is nothing to be feared from me on that score.” 

“No, and so you shall hear the secret. Now then, give 
me your utmost attention, for I must speak low. I would 
not for the world have any of the men overhear me,” whis- 
pered Captain Storms. 

The old skipper need not have given this charge. 

The stranger was attending, with every faculty of his 
mind and body strained upon the alert. His handsome 
head was bent forward, his pale, eager face gleamed dimly 


against wind and wave. 


35 


forth from its shadowy falls of black hair, his large, black 
eyes shone fiercely through the darkness, like those of a 
wild animal. He was listening with his whole soul up on 
the qiii vive. Was it only a vulgar curiosity to hear the 
secrets of a strange family that absorbed him thus? I 
think not. 

“ As far back as I can remember, and how much farther 
back than that I can not say from my own knowledge, the 

house of Henniker but Lord bless my soul and body ! 

here 1 am running a foul of that schooner in the dark ! 
Doing the same sort of thing that I swore at poor old Jack 
fordoing! So much for human justice and consistency,'^ 
suddenly exclaimed the old captain, as he quickly shifted 
tlie position of the helm and gave his whole mind to steer- 
ing. 

The young man shrugged his shoulders and drew back 
with a look of disappointment and annoyance. He would 
rather have run into the schooner and taken his chance of 
destroying and being destroyed than have missed the solu- 
tion of that mystery of fair women which he so much 
longed to understand. He sat watching the skipper until 
thej" had steered clear of the impending danger and left the 
schooner far to windward, and then he bent forward eagerly, 
touched the arm of the captain and exclaimed : 

“Well?” 

“ What ? ” demanded old Storms. 

“ The story ! the story ! the story ? ” 

“ Oh blast the story ! I can’t attend to that now I 
We’re in a very ugly part of the bay — there are shoals along 
this coast and I must take the ship through them as well 
as I can. Besides the wind is rising again ! Don’t you 
hear it ? I knew that was only a temporary lull at sunset ? 
I was sure the devil would be to pay soon ; and so it will. 
Listen at that ! We shall have a gale before midnight.-— 
AiiOY THERE ! Take in all sail ! And Jack W eatherby, 


86 


T II E F A M I 1. Y DOOM. 


come here and take the helm ! ” roared the captain, turning 
from his passenger to his crew. 

And in another instant old Jack ran aft and seized the 
helm which the skipper relinquished only to hurry forward 
to see his orders carried into effect. 

And so energetic, not to say profane were his appeals to 
Heaven and Earth and his consignments of everything and 
everybody to the Other Place, that in a very few minutes 
all the sails were taken in and the brigantine put in com- 
plete trim to weather the impending storm if she could. 

And not a moment too soon. 

Never had a gale sprung up more suddenly. The sky 
grew even darker than the night had alread}'- made it. The 
waves were lashed into foam and kindled into phosphoric 
sparks. The wind roared and howled over the troubled 
waters and skrieked and whistled among the rattling 
shrouds. The ship straining every timber and groaning 
like a living soul, struggled onward through the storm. 
The crew worked hard ; but the captain swore harder. 

If we could only double Henniker’s Point and run up 
into the mouth of the creek we might anchor ; but the 
cursed lubbers can’t do it!” swore old Storms as he came 
aft to speak to the stranger, who still kept his place on deck. 

It is not so easy to double a point like that, in stormy 
weather,” replied the young man, taking the part of the 
rated crew. 

‘‘ It is easy enough. It could be done if all the men 
were like me. I could do it, if I could project my spirit 
into each of the men. Plowed if it is not growing worse 
and worse I You’d better not stay up here on deck. You’d 

better go below and turn in, Mr. Mr. There! 

You’ve been with me a whole week and never told me your 
name yet,” said the skipper to his mysterious passenger. 

Yes, and the stranger did not tell his name then ; and 
what is more, he did not take the captain’s advice any more 


AGAINST WIND AND WAVE. 


37 


than lie took liis hint. Instead of going below and turning 
in, he staid above and turned about. He remained on deck 
during all the hours of that dreadful night, while the storm 
raged, the skipper swore, the crew toiled and the craft 
struggled with the heaving waves and howling winds ! 

All night long the terrible strife continued. 

It was near morning when the worn-out crew succeeded 
in bringing their ship around to Henniker’s Point. 

But in the very act of doubling, the wind struck the brig- 
antine broadside, drove her furiously on to leeward and cap- 
sized her within a hundred yards of the shored 

The calamity came so suddenly and took captain, crew 
and passenger so utterly by surprise, that in an instant all 
hands found themselves in the water, blindly struggling for 
life among the whelming waves before thej'' could understand 
what had happened, or realize where they were. Most for- 
tunately there were no helpless women or children to be 
cared for and saved. Moreover, the men were good swim- 
mers and they were within a few hundred feet of the land. 
It was still dark as Tophet, and instinct rather than light 
guided them in reaching the main. Each man struck out 
manfully, and in a few moments all safely reached the shore 
clambered up the bank and sat down to recover their lost 
breath and scattered wits. 

The wind was still blowing a hurricane, and their drip- 
ping garments were soon frozen to their backs. 

The ski[)per was the first to speak : 

I’m blowed if here aint a go !” he growled. 

“ I think we are all pretty well ‘ blowed,’ for my part,’^ 
laughed the stranger. 

“ My trowsers are froze fast to my legs ; I shall have in- 
flammatory rheumatism all the winter,” grumbled the new- 
est hand there, a land-lubber who had been lately shipped. 

‘‘ S’posin’ we was all to stop howling, and just thank the 
Lord for the preservation of our lives,” suggested old Jack 
Weatherby. 


88 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


But no one seconded his motion. 

‘‘ Where are we, Captain ? inquired the stranger. 

“ We’re sitting on a frozen bank in frozen clothes. 
That’s about all I can tell you until daylight helps us to 
take our bearings. Blest if I even know whether we are 
on this side of the point or the other side of it,” growled 
the skipper. 

Oil, I can tell jmu that much : we are on this side de- 
cidedly,” laughed the stranger. 

“ Bosh ! you know what I mean. I mean to say I don’t 
know whether we really doubled or not before we were 
blown ashore.” 

We doubled, sir, — we just doubled, and no more; which 
it were so black and boisterous, with such a confoundered 
twister as one could hardly be sure where we was,” put in 
old Jack. 

That is so. Well, if you are sure we doubled the point, 
we are now on the banks of Henniker’s creek, near its 
mouth, and Henniker’s house can’t be far off,” said the caji- 
tain. 

And at this the j^oung unknowm pricked uj) his ears, and 
listened. 

“ I say, Captain, it is near on to morning I’m thinking. 
It is getting quite light over yonder,” said old Jack. 

So it is. Hay is dawning. And now we had all better 
try to find our way to the house, and rouse up the family. 
We shall be sure to have help and succor from them,” said 
Captain Storms rising. 

“ And to think, after all, here I am cast ashore upon the 
soil of Henniker, with no possible alternative but to seek 
the shelter of its fatal roof. It is destiny,” mused the 
young stranger ; “ And who can resist his destiny ? ” 


STORM- BOUND. 


39 


CHAPTER II. 

STORM-BOUND. 

Anti now came winter clothed sUl in fl'ieze. 

Chattering his teeth for cold that did him chill. 

Whilst on his hoary board hia breath did freeze.— Spens kb. 

Pushing through the leafless copsewood, crusliing over 
the frozen stubble fields, in the earlj’^ dawn of that winter 
morning, the shipwrecked party came in sight of Henniker 
House. 

It was a large, rambling, old-fashioned edifice, irregularly 
built of dark bricks, and rising amid a grove of yew trees, 
old, weird and ghostly as the haunts of the Druids. 

Keeping close to a low brick garden wall, overgrown with 
brain hies, the captain led his party on towards the front 
entrance. 

Here they were met by an onslaught of dogs. Dogs of 
all breeds, sizes and colors, from the great black Russian 
bloodliouiid to the tiny curlj'^ wliite poodle, burst out upon 
the intruders, barking furiousl3\ 

The captain caught up a broken brancli of a tree and 
made it play briskly among tliem, while he sliouted : 

What now, Slayer? For shame. Watchman ! Stop it, 
Sharj) ! Don’t you know your friends from your foes, Lily 
White ? ” 

At the sound of his voice in a moment all was changed. 
The dogs began to jump about him with quick, joyous 
barks, assuring him with all the inarticulate eloquence of 
their race that it was all a mistake, that they were very 
glad to see Iiim, and very sorry, and begged ten thousand 
pardons. 

There, tliere, that will do ! Down, Sentinel, old fellow ! 
I knew you took us for sheep-stealers, Guardsman ! Come, 
come, Prownic, let’s get on to the house and see the ladies.’^ 


40 


THE F A M I J. Y DOOM. 


So with caressing pats and gentle kicks he cleartnl away 
the dogs and led his party through them to the foot of the 
long flight of stone steps, ascending from terrace to terrace, 
lip to the front door. 

Here they were met by an old negro man running down 
and shouting : 

“ What is it, good dogs ? Sssss ! Seize ’em ! Seize 
’em, Slayer ! ” 

“ Hallo, 3'ou Kip ! Stop that ! This is a pretty way to 
receive an old friend, cast away on your sliores, too ! ” 
exclaimed tlie captain. 

“ Lor bress my eyes, Marse Tom ! is that you, sir ? And 
cast ” 

“ I ? Of course it is ! Capsized on your coast, too ! 
You’re a ruthless savage, you Kip ! If I had been cast 
away on tlie coast of Congo, your countrymen, the Caifrees, 
would have treated me better. And you set the dogs on 
me ! What good has civilization and Christianization done 
you, I wonder ! ” 

Lor,’ Marse Tom ! who’d a thought it was you at this 
unlawful hour of the morning? And capsized on the coast! 
And all tlie beasts barking too, as if you was an enemy ! 
’Deed, Lor’ knows, I did tliink as it was horse-thieves. 
AVe been done robbed so often this season, sir! ’Deed we 
lias ! The rogues, they know as there’s nobody but ladies 
and colored folks here and tliey land in the night, so they 
do — the willians ! — and carry off our pigs and poultry ; and 
only week afore hist they stole ole mistress’s own riding 
horse ! ” 

“What? Frisky? ” 

“ Yes, sure’s you’re born, sir ! But Lor’ ! that’s not to 
be named alongside of your misfortune, sir ! I hope no 
lives was lost ? ” said the negro, who had now reached the 
top of the stairs and opened the hall door. 

“ Ho, thank Heaven ! How are the ladies ? ” inquired 
the captain, as they entered the house. 


STOEM -BOUND. 


41 


^‘Well as ever they can be, sir. — Lor! when was ever 
anything the matter with our ladies ? Come in, sir. 
Here’s a lire in the big room,” said the old man. 

And he opened a door on the right and ushered the 
shipwrecked party into a line old-fashioned room, with a 
lofty ceiling, high windows, and wrought marble mantle- 
piece. Its oak-paneled walls were hung all over with old 
family portraits. Its tall windows were draped with faded 
yellow damask. A large chandelier for wax candles hung 
from the center of the ceiling. But the polished Norway 
pine floor was bare except for the handsome Turkey rugs 
that ]n.y before the hearth, before the two stiff yellow dam- 
ask sofas on each side of the room, and before the piano in 
the corner behind the door. A great fire of hickory logs, 
large enough to roast an ox was roaring and blazing up the 
broad chimney. In recesses on each side of this chimney 
stood tall old-time book-cases with glass doors, showing 
through them rows of books, none less than a century old. 
In the center of the room stood a large table of shining 
mahogany, with many drawers. And all around this table 
and about the walls set stiff high-backed chairs with 3’ellow 
damask covers. And in all the nooks and corners of the 
place nestled work tables, writing desks, music stands and 
all the accessories of a ladj^’s dailj’’ life and light labors. 

“ This is jolly ! this is very fine ! We can thaw out 
here,” said the captain, approaching the great blazing lire, 
and spreading his hands over it. 

His example was followed by all his party, who came and 
stood basking and turning about in the genial glow of the 
hearth. Soon a great steam arose from all their thawing 
clothes. 

And, moreover, the negro pushed through the crowd of 
men, and stirred up the logs with a great poker, and made 
the fire sparkle, blaze, and war more fiercely than before, 
and the steam rise in greater clouds than ever. 


42 


T H K F A M I I, Y DOOM. 


I sa}' you E-ip ! I don’t want to disturb the ladies sc 
early as this : but if, without troubling any of them, you 
could procure us something hot and strong, it might save 
our lives.” 

^ ’Cuba’s making coffee, sir.” 

Oh, coffee be blowed ! I want some of the strongest 
brandy and the hottest water you can lay jmur hands on — 
if you can get it without ’waking the ladies.” 

Lor’ bless you, sir, our ladies is all awake. Ole inistess 
has been down this hour. And here she comes now. I 
hear her a-talking to Sofakeys,” said the negro. 

And at this moment fast footsteps were heard approach- 
ing, and a brisk voice saying : 

“ But, first of all, hurry down to the water-side, Sophocles, 
and seek the boats. I’m afraid some of them have been torn 
from their moorings by the gale last night. If so, come 
back immediatelj^ and tell me, for other boats must be sent 
out directly to look for them.” 

And the next instant the door opened, and Mrs. Jer- 
nyngham or Madam Journey, as she was usually called, 
hurried into the room. 

Slie was a small, thin, fair-complexioned old lady, neatly 
dressed in a gray merino gown, white neck-frill, and white 
lace cap. She crossed the floor, quickly'' : 

‘‘Bless me, what a vapor ! Captain Storms — gracious 
me, Captain, where did you come from ? What has hap- 
pened ? Who are these with 3mu ?” she hurriedly inquir- 
ed, as old Tom Storms emerged from the cloud of steam to 
meet her. 

“I come from the sea. Madam. Shipwreck has happen- 
ed. And those are the companions of my misfortune,” 
answered the Captain to all her questions, in the order in 
which they were asked. 

“ Shipwreck ! Good heaven. Captain, I hope no lives 
were lost?” exclaimed the lady, in consternation. 


S T O K ]VI - B 0 UNI). 


43 


*‘Not one. Tlie wind blew us ashore, turned over the 
vessel, and emptied us out like a shoal of spoiled herrings.” 

Thank Heaven for that, old friend.” 

^‘For my shipwreck ? — I’m obliged to you, ma’am.” 

^‘No ; you know well enough wliat I mean, — for the lives 
saved. But, now, the next point: I hope the brig was not 
a total loss ? 

‘‘ No, I think not ; she is capsized, — that is all I know 
yet.” 

And the cargo ? ” 

Oh, I suppose the cargo is damaged considerabl}'. Still 
I don’t know yet. When the wind and the waves go down 
a little, we will go and look at her.” 

“ Was she insured ? ” 

“ Oh, 3'es ; the brig was, but not the cargo. How could 
it be ? Owned b}'^ so man}’’ difterent people, and made up 
of so many ditferent parcels ? ” 

Ah, to be sure. But, my dear Captain, how wet 3'ou 
are ! And your men, too ! Let me send the men first to 
the kitchen fire, to diy themselves ; and let me provide you 
with a change of clothing?” 

“Thank you. Madam. And if you could order the poor 
fellows something strong and hot, it might do them good.” 

“ And yourself too. Captain, eh ? Quite right. It shall 
be done. Euripides, take these men down stairs, and tell 
Hecuba to see to their needs. Then light a fire in the gen- 
tleman’s spare-room, lay out the necessar}’’ clothing to air, 
and show the captain up there. And be quick, Euripides — 
just as quick as possible,” said Madam Journey, briskly. 

The old man bent his white head in obedience, and then 
signalled the sailors to follow him. 

The men — some six or eight only in number — filed out 
after their leader, leaving the captain and his one passenger 
standing on the hearth. 

The latter seemed to be in a rather false position — being 


44 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


neither the captain, nor one of the crew, nor invited to stay 
in the parlor with the first, nor to go to the kitchen with 
the last. 

Apparently now, for the first time, their hostess noticed 
him. Probably previous to this moment she had not looked 
at him, or had classed him with the crew. Now, however, 
she fixed her surprised e^’^es on his dark, handsome face, and 
then turned to the captain, and inquired : 

And your friend, this gentleman ? ” 

Oh ! ay! yes! to be sure! a passenger of mine! Mr. 

a a, Mr. a a?” said the captain, turning 

appealingly to the individual in question. 

There was no help for it. The stranger advanced, and 
bowing low before the lady, said : 

Vane Vandeleur, Madam, at your orders.’^ 

The lady suddenly grew very pale, and sank down into 
the nearest chair. 

The captain hurried towards her, exclaiming : 

“ You are faint, Mrs-. Jernyngham ! you are ill ! what is 
it ? What can I do for you ? What shall I bring you ? 

Nothing. And you can do nothing — Yes: you can 
open a window and let out some of this heavy steam, 
replied the lady, with an effort. 

“ To be sure ! It was my half-drowned crew did it. 
They did smell like a flock of wet sheep, and that’s a 
fact,” said old Tom Storms, as he fumbled at the window- 
sash some moments before he succeeded in raising it. 

Then indeed the air rushed in, driving all the fog before 
it, and sending a blaze up the chimney, that looked as if it 
might have burst the solid masonry. 

And the lady arose and walked towards her younger 
guest, and said : 

You will pardon me, I hope, Mr. Vandeleur, but — the 
steam was very suffocating, and — I am not so young as I 
was twenty years ago. You are very welcome to my house. 
Will you sit near the fire ? ” 


STORM -BOUND. 


45 


“I thank you, Madam. I beg you will permit me to 
stand. I ” 

“Certainly. Perhaps it is better that you should do so, 
rather than sit in wet clothes. Captain, will you shut that 
window now ? The room is cleared of steam, and that 
blast is as keen as if it blew directly from the ice-fields of 
the Arctic Circle.’^ 

Old Storms complied with her request, and then re- 
joined his companion on the rug before the fire. 

“ Gentlemen, my servants will wait on you, in a few mo- 
ments to show you to a room where you may exchange your 
w^et garments for dry ones. It is now seven o’clock. 
Preakfiist will be served at eight,” said Mrs. Jernyngham. 
And with a slight inclination of her head, she left the 
room. 

A singularlj^ mournful smile just curved the lips of the 
young stranger as his dark eyes followed their hostess from 
the apartment. 

Old Storms whistled. 

Vandeleur turned towards him with a look of inquiry. 

“ Oh you may stare ! ” said old Storms defiantly. 

“ What did you mean bj^ that whistle ? ” demanded the 
young man. 

“What the demon do you mean yourself? And what did 
you do or say to the old Madam, to give her that dreadful 
turn ? ” 

“ I ! nothing ! She said it was the steam. So did you,, I 
think.” 

“Steam! Ha! ha! ha! Tell that to the marines! It 
takes something stronger than that to upset the old Madam. 
Didn’t I tell ypu the women of her race were never known 
to give way to any weakness of mind or body ? Ho, nor 
she didn’t give way this time, neither, though I never saw 
her so near doing so in my life ! But only see how quickly 
and completely she recovered herself, and ascribed her at- 


46 


THE F A M I r, Y DOOM. 


tack to tlie lianiiless steam ! It was soniethiug jn you that 
upset her ! Now what was it ? And who the devil are you, 
anyhow ? ’’ 

Yandeleur shrugged his shoulders, and laughing lightly 
answered carelessl}’^ : 

‘‘ I should not fancy being obliged to furnish the key to 
all your enigmas.” 

“ Thank you ! But here comes ‘Euripides,’ as his mis- 
tress christened him, ‘ You-Bip,’ as I and everybody else 
call him.” 

“ Cap’ll, your room’s ready sir, if ^mu’ll come and go to 
it now,” announced the old man, politelj’^ bowing. 

“All right Kip! Lead the way. Come, Mr. Vande- 
leur!” said old Storms, striding on, and beckoning his 
companion to follow. 

“‘Bandy-legs!’ Aint that a rum name for a young 
gentleman, neither! And his legs is as straight as mine 
too!” said old You-Kip to himself, gazing over his shoul- 
ders at the elegant form of the stranger, and then glancing 
down at his own curved lower extremities. 

He led tiie way up a broad flight of stairs to a spacious 
bed room in the gable end of the house, with a large 
double window looking out to sea. 

The captain walked at once to this window to take a 
view. 

The sun was just rising and shooting long arrows of 
light across the waters of the bay and up the creek, and 
their points struck and flashed back from some shining 
metallic objects on the beach below. 

“Yes, there she is yet, Lord bless her! ” he cried, rub- 
bing his hands. “Not washed away, thank Heaven! 
though the winds and waves do thrash her cruelly. But 
now the sun is up the wind will go down, and the waves 
will soon follow their example, and then we’ll see what can 
be done in rigliting her and securing the cargo, or what’s 
left of it.”. 


STORM-BOUN D. 


47 


“I should think she would also want some 

Well, yes, I suppose she will. But we needn’t go far 
for them. Lord bless you, sir! half the men about here 
are, of necessit}'”, ship carpenters and sail-makers. If she 
isn’t injured past remedy, we will have all right in a little 
time.” 

Please, gentlemen, it is half arter seven, and breakfast 
will be on the table at eight, and the ladies, you see, 
sir ” 

Don’t like to be kept waiting, I suppose,” put in the 
captain. 

“ Well, sir, the ladies is very punkt^’well, especially ole 
mist’ess, who keeps everybody up to the mark, worse’n any 
field oberseer as ever you saw.” 

Well, we’ll not fall under her just rebuke. Come 
Vandeleur I— I am very glad to know your name at last, so 
as to be able to call you something else besides ‘ you ’ and 
‘sir.’ Come — let’s put ourselves in trim for breakfasting 
with the ladies.” 

There were two washstands and a great plenty of clean 
towels and fresh water, all of which the weather-beaten men 
freely used. 

Having well washed and combed themselves, they turned 
to the ample provision of clothing that hung airing before 
the fire. 

“ Good gracious, E-ip ! do you expect us to put all these 
on our backs? Why, here are suits enough to fit out the 
whole crew for a long voyage,” laughed the captain, as he 
put himself into one of the largest shirts in the collection. 

“ Well, marster, you see, sir, I thought it wer better to 
hang out a variety for you and the tother gentleman to take 
jmur pick and choose from, ’cause you see, sir, what’ll fit 
one gentleman mayn’t fit another. Can I help you, sir?” 

“Ho, thank you. I’m no stranger here. 1 can look out 
for myself. Do you attend this gentleman,” said the cap- 


48 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


tain, jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of 
Vandeleur. 

Yes, sir — certainly, sir,’’ saiddhe old man. And then, 
turning towards the stranger and bowing with all the polite 
alacrity of his race, he signified that he was at that gentle- 
man’s service. 

Vandeleur acknowledged the. courtesy by a slight smile 
and nod. 

‘‘ Here, sir,” said the old man, beginning to turn over the 
piles of clothing, “here are three sizes to choose from ; and 
among ’em all I hope as you’ll be suited.” 

“No doubt of it,” laughed Vandeleur. 

“ This, sir,” said the groom of the chambers, holding up 
a suit in the fashion of more than fifty 3’ears before — “this 
is werry large — werrj’- large indeed ; miles to big for you, I 
should saj", sir. It belonged to m3’' oldest old marster, sir — 
though he was a weriy 3mung marster when he died, — 
Criptain Journe3^, sir, of the United States nav3’^, killed in 
a sea-fight in the year ’ 90 . Well I ’members of the day, 
sir, when the news ’rove. It was a wictory, sir. But what 
was a wictory to her who had lost her companion ? Old 
Madam was a young beauty then, sir; and her onliest dar- 
ter, her onliest child, Mrs. Dering which now is, but Miss 
Hortensia Jern3mgham as then was, was a little babb3’', sir. 
And the madam, cheerful as 3'ou sees her ?iotv, took her loss 
so to heart then, that she never married again, don’t 3^ou 
see ? ” 

“ And now. Rip, suppose 3mu stop to take breath, while 
you find Mr. Vandeleur something that he ca 7 i wear, and 
hand that giant’s suit of clothes over to me,” said old 
Storms, impatiently. 

“ Yes, sir— -certainly, sir ! ” replied Euripides, bowing 
with {jolite acquiescence as he delivered the garment. * 

Then he turned again to the stranger, wlmse fixed and 
interested attention had greatly pleased and flattered him, 
and, taking up another suit, said : 


ST O RM-BOU N D. 


49 


« And this sir was the property of Colonel Dering, 
United States Army sir, mortally wounded in a skrimmage 
with the Indians in the year ’12 sir. Yes sir ! His wife, 
Miss Hortensia that was, had gone with him into the 
Indian countr^^, sir. And the first w^e knew of his loss 
was Miss Hortensia spearing among ns with widow^s weeds 
on her back and an orphan infant in her arms. And s/ie 
never tried it again. And to this day, she hasn’t got over 
his loss.” 

“ Your ladies have been visited with heavy trials,” 
observed Vandeleur. 

“ You may say that sir, for as cheerful ladies as the}’' is 
too. But will you try this suit on and see if it will fit 
you ? ” 

‘‘ I am afraid it is too small. Let me see another.” 

Well, he was a little fellow, was the colonel ! and that’s 
a fact ! a iverry little fellow, but lord ! he had a soul as big 
as Alexander the Great, sir ! ” 

“ Alexander the Great was also a little fellow physically. 
And I myself am scarcely up to the regulation standard,” 
said Vandeleur with a smile at his own slight, but most 
graceful figure. 

Yes sir, but then you makes up for it all in good looks. 
Lor* sir there’s very few young ladies handsome as you 
are.” 

“Many thanks for your good opinion,” laughed Van- 
deleur. — “But now hand me that suit of clothes, which 
you hold in your hand, I think they may fit me.” 

“ There sir,” said the old man with a sigh, as he held up 
an elegant suit of black broadcloth — “ these belonged to 
Mr. Rapliael Brooke. Ah ! sir ! Ah ! sir ! talk of gentle- 
men being slain in battle ! that’s bad enough ! but not as 
bad as his fate ! His fate, sir, was enough to break your 
heart.” 

“ You Rip ! You are babbling,” exclaimed old Storms 
angrily. 


60 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


I know I am sir ; but I can’t help of it ! ’deed I can’t* 
These clothes, they bring up old times. And when I think 
of Marse Rafe — I — I ” 

Here the old man broke down, rubbed his sleeve across 
his eyes and sobbed. 

*‘What was the fate of this beloved 3’oung master?” 
inquired Vandeleur, with deep interest. 

“Well sir; j'ou see he married Miss Rosamond, wliich 
they do say means Rose of the World. — Do they fit you ? ” 
inquired old Rip, breaking off from his scarcely commenced 
narrative to ask the question. 

“Yes; they fit to a nicety,” answered Vandeleur as he 
cased himself in the elegant suit of clerical black. “ But 
proceed with what you were about to tell me.” 

“ Well sir, he married our Miss Rosamond — our Rose of 
the World, she that her mother brought home from the 
Indian country after the death of her father. Colonel Der- 
ing, 3^ou know — ” 

“Yes, well?” 

“Yes sir, he married her and they had just been 
married three months when one day—” 

“ There, there is the breakfast bell and we must not 
keep the ladies waiting ! Come Vandeleur, let us go down. 
Rip you can let up with j^our gossiping until some more 
convenient season I ” said old Storms, actually taking the 
arm of the stranger and leading the way down stairs. 

“The demon!” muttered Vandeleur, “I am always 
coming in for interrupted narratives and baffled curiosity.” 

“ My boy, money is said to be the root of all e\ il. It is 
a popular error. Curiosity is the root of all evil I I can 
prove it by Holy Writ. If it hadn’t been for Eve’s curi- 
osity, sill and suffering would never have entered the 
world. So be warned in time, and govern 3'our curiosity 
before it brings you to grief,” advised old Storms. 

“ This is the way, if you please, gentlemen,” said Euripi- 


W I D O W V I L L E . 


61 


des, who had followed them closely, and who now passed 
quickly before them and opened the dining-room door. 


CHAPTER HI. 

WIDOWVILLE. 

Oh bright is that home when the spring-time returns 
And brighter than all when the evening-fire burns. 

When snow falls around you and comfort within 

Tells the time when the pleasures of Winter begins. — Mbs. Ellis. 

The captain and his companion passed through and 
found themselves in a very pleasant apartment with win- 
dows looking seaward. It was warmed, as each room in 
that pleasant house was, by a huge fire of hickory logs, 
burning in the broad, open fireplace. A breakfast table 
stood in the middle of the floor covered with a snow-white 
damask cloth, adorned with a rich silver and Sevres china 
service, and supplied with all the exquisite delicacies of a 
Maryland waterside plantation — delicious coffee and tea, 
light rolls and buckwheat cakes, fresh butter and new-laid 
eggs, fresh fish, oysters, game and poultry. 

Ah, that’s good ! That’s worth being capsized for ! ” 
heartily exclaimed old Storms, sniffing the aroma of all 
these luxuries and openl}^ venting his delight. “ Ah ! how 
do you do, Mrs. Dering ? Blooming as ever, Mrs. Brooke ! 
Ah, my beautiful Berenice ! You will have to look out for 
your golden apples when your mother is near! ” he contin- 
ued, cordially shaking hands with the ladies in the turn in 
which he named them. 

“ Mr. Vandeleur,” said the oldest lady, rising and taking 
the hand of the stranger, “ let me introduce you to my 
family circle. This is my daughter, Mrs. Colonel Deling. 
Hortensia, my dear, Mr. Vane Vandeleur.” 


62 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


And our wanderer found himself bowing before a tall, 
stout,, majestic looking woman, whose black hair was 
lightly streaked with gray, and surmounted by a richly 
trimmed morning cap, and whose stately form was clothed 
in a roj'al purple cashmere morning dress and draped with 
a costly India shawl. With a graceful but rather haughty 
inclination of her head slie acknowledged the low obeisance 
of the guest. 

My grand-daughter, Mrs. Brooke. Rosamond, love, 
Mr. Vane Vandeleur,” continued the old lady, bringing her 
recruit to the right face front before a beautiful blonde with 
reddish golden hair, ultra-marine blue eyes, and still bloom- 
ing complexion, looking twenty-five when she was really 
thirty-six. She wore her lovely hair parted in the middle 
and trailed in its natural ripples down each side her rosy 
face, and gathered into a loose knot at the back of her 
head. She was dressed in a light-blue merino wrapper that 
well became her fair complexion. She frankly held out her 
hand to the stranger and cordially welcomed him, saying : 

We have heard of the shipwreck ; but we reallj^ think, 
as all your lives were saved, we have more cause to congrat- 
ulate than to condole with you. And I for one do congrat- 
ulate you with all my heart. The worst feature in your 
case is that you will have to stay weather-bound to this 
lonely sea-side house, with no better company than three 
old women and a girl. But we will all try to lighten your 
affliction as well as we can,” she added, laughing and 
showing rows of little pearly teeth. 

Vandeleur began to assure her that he considered the 
shipwreck which had cast him upon this coast and brought 
him to this house and to the society of such ladies, one of 
the happiest, nay the very happiest event of his life ; when 
she interrupted him. 

“A truce to all that! You must be made acquainted 
with my daughter Berenice— our baby we call her, because 


WIDOWVILLE. 53 

§be is the youngest of four generations. Berry, come here, 
my dear, and welcome our guest.” 

As the lady spoke there suddenly and silently stood by 
her side a form of perfect beauty and peerless grace. 

The young stranger looked up, and stood face to face 
with his fate. 

He did not know it then. Who does know it when he 
meets, for the first time, the being who is to have the con- 
trolling influence over his life. 

Vane Vandeleur, at least, did not even guess that in 
Berenice Brooke he met his destiny. 

But that first look showed him in an instant all that it 
will take me some minutes to portray. 

She was perfectly beautiful, but she was more than beau- 
tiful, more than graceful, and even more than fascinating — > 
she was most pow'erfully, though unconsciously, magnetic. 
She had a tall, slender, but well-rounded form, with small, 
plump, tapering hands and feet ; a round, slender w'aist ; a 
full, curved bust ; a stately neck and throat ; and a classic 
head. Her face was oval, and her features were regular, 
delicate, and fine ; her complexion was clear, pale, and 
pure ; her hair was blue-black, bright and soft, and rippling 
over her temples and cheeks, but gathered up over a golden 
comb at the back of her head, from which it hung in a 
showier of long ringlets ; her black eye-brows were perfect 
arches ; her black-fringed eyes were of the darkest blue ; 
her nose was small, straight, and delicate; her lips were 
beautifully bowed, and deeply, vividly crimsoned — or they 
seemed so, in contrast to her pure, pale face. Her dress 
was of ruby-colored merino, relieved only by a collar and 
cuffs of fine linen cambric. Taken for all in all, she was 
very different from all the women in her family— different 
from the little old brisk and busy housewife. Madam Jour- 
ney; from the dark, majestic Hortensia Dering ; and from 
the fair-haired, blooming Kosamond Brooke. 


64 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


Like some rich exotic flower among the garden plants, 
like some rare tropical bird among domestic poultry, was 
this peerless Berenice among the widows of Widowville. 

Such were the thoughts that passed rapidly through the 
mind of Vandeleur, as he glanced at the beauty in the 
instant just before her mother said : 

« Berry, my darling, tliis is Mr. Vane Vandeleur. Make 
him welcome to our house. 

“ With much pleasure. Though Mr. Vandeleur does 
not really need that I should make him welcome. He must 
feel that he is already made most cordially welcome to Hen- 
niker,” said the sweetest voice with the sweetest smile that 
Vane had ever heard or seen. 

He bowed deeply, expressing his thanks more by the 
eloquent glances of his large, dark, mournful eyes than by 
any words he could command. 

“ And now we will sit down to breakfast,” said Mrs. 
Bering, moving towards the table. 

Madam Journey was already in her place at the head of 
her board, with her butler, steward, footman, groom of the 
chambers — in a word, her factotum, Euripides, standii'.g 
behind her chair. 

“ Seat yourselves, gentlemen, and. Captain, take the foot 
of the table, if you please.” 

Old Storms sat down rubbing his hands with delight as 
he contemplated the savory dish of broiled birds that lay 
before him and the pile of hot plates that stood beside him. 
Under any other circumstances than a heavy gale of wind 
or a dead calm at sea, he was a very happy and jovial old 
companion. He was a remarkably tall and stout old man, 
in stature approaching the gigantic, for he stood six feet 
seven in his shoes, and was broad-shouldered and deep- 
chested in proportion. He had a large ruddy face, bare of 
beard or whiskers, but with heavy overhanging gray eye- 
brows, and a long, thick gray moustache. His hair was 


W I D O W V I L L E . 56 

also gray, but tbiii — worn off, he declared, by the constant 
friction of his old tarpaulin hat. 

The breakfast began in a very lively style. 

“ You-Bip ” skipped about with cups of tea and coffee. 
Old Storms stopped rubbing his hands and began to serve 
out the broiled birds. And the two matrons — Mesdames 
Dering and Brooke, who- sat the one on the right and the 
other on the left of Madam Journe}’^ — did the honors of 
the other delicacies. 

A very brisk conversation was started between the old 
lady at the head of the table and the old sailor at the foot, 
in which fair Mrs. Brooke took a lively interest and to 
w hich even dark Mrs Dering added an occasional word. 

The talk was all about the tornado, as Madam Journey 
called the gale, and the shipwreck, as she called the capsize, 
and^about the loss of the valuable cargo. 

“I don’t think the brig is hurt much, no, nor the heavy 
consignments either, unless there should happen to be a 
leak in the hold, which I have no reason to fear. But it is 
the women’s Christmas finery that will suffer most. There 
are some India shawls and Italian silks brought dowm for 
Fulvia and Flavia that must have come to grief. Nor do I 
think my little Hal’s riding-dress and hat and feather wull 
be much, improved by a sea-bath. But what hurts me- 
worse than all is poor Father Bonhomme’s Christmas box. 

Well, well ! it all comes in a life-time and w'on’t matter a 
bit a hundred j^ears hence ! ” philosophically remarked the 
captain, as he filled his large mouth with the savory breast 
of a broiled bird. 

Well, but since we are such small creatures with such 
short lives, we like them to be filled up with, at least, small 
pleasures and profits and not with great disappointments 
and losses,” said Madam Journey. 

“ Yes, if we must have ^ a short life,’ let it be a merry 
one, according to the proverbs,” laughed Mrs. Brooke. 


66 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


— Whicli are said to be the wisdom of ages, but which 
are just as much the ignorance of the past and the folly of 
the present/’ put in Mrs. Dering, And her sage remark 
threw a momentary damper upon the conversation — only 
momentary, however, for it revived almost immediately and 
W’ent on more briskly than ever. 

Madam Journey had a hundred questions to ask about 
the world beyond her own peninsula : Had Congress elect- 
ed their new Speaker ? Who were the chaplains of the 
House and the Senate ? Would Congress pass the new 
taritf bill ? What was the state of the market ? Was 
flour going up, or down, or keeping quiet. 

Old Storms answered all these questions to the best of 
his knowledge and belief, but at the same time expressed 
his surprise that the old lady had not gained the required 
information from the newspapers. 

“Newspapers?” echoed Madam Journey in disgust. 
“You know very well the mail comes down to Henniker 
only once a week, and half the time the papers are left 
behind. I wish I was at the head of that department. 1 
think I would make some of these negligent people fly 
around a bit ! ” 

“ I have no doubt you would, ma’am,” gallantly replied 
the captain. 

“ I have not had my paper for two weeks, so you may 
judge that I am behind the times with my news.” 

“ It is too bad ! — it is too bad ! Let me help you to a 
little of this omelette, ma’am,” said the captain, who evi- 
dently considered good victuals the best panacea for any sort 
of trouble, from a slight pain in the temper to a heavy 
oppression of the soul. 

Mrs. Brooke also had many questions to ask upon subjects 
that interested her : Did the captain notice the shop win- 
dows, or the ladies on the promenade ? and could he tell 
her what style of bonnets were worn, or if anj’’ new pat- 


W I D O W V I L L E . 67 

terns in shawls or dresses had come out ? To all of which 
old Storms replied, rubbing his head and laughing: 

My dear Madam, I ain. nothing but a poor stupid 
sailor. I think I know a lady’s shoe from a lady’s bonnet; 
but, if I do, that is the extent of my knowledge of her 
rigging. I sometimes hear such words as -merino, illusion, 
satin, and so on, dinged into my ears by my female ac- 
quaintances ; but I haven’t tlie least idea what they mean, 
except — 3'es, merino is something to trim lace caps with, 
and illusion is a heavy woollen fabric for strong outer gar- 
ments. I wish I could answer your questions satisfactorily; 
but you see what a dunce I am, and you have a right to 
laugh at me.” 

In fact, Madam Journey and Mrs. Brooke were both 
laughing heartily. 

All right, Captain ! You are a dear old soul ; and any 
answer that provokes a laugh in this humdrum house is 
satisfactory,” said Mrs. Rosamond. 

While this lively conversation was going on around the 
table, there were two persons who took no part in it — Vane 
Vandeleur and Berenice Brooke, who sat, the first on the 
right and the last on the left hand of old Storms, near the 
foot of the table. They were, therefore, directly opposite 
each other, with only the breadth of the board between 
them. 

And, from the time Vane took his seat, he. had eyes, ears^ 
mind, for no one and for nothing in this world but for his 
opposite neighbor; though when he was addressed he 
answered aifably ; and when the delicacies of the table 
were courteously tendered to him, he as courteously ac- 
cepted or declined them. 

But through all, his real attention was entirely absorbed 
by Berenice Brooke. He was “ a very perfect gentleman,” 
and therefore he did not stare at the young lady, but ob- 
served her whenever he could do so unobserved, and seemed 
to see her, in his mind’s eye, all the while. 


58 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


She was beautiful exceedingly, yet seemed to grow even 
more beautiful on contemplation. Could the briglitest 
golden tresses compare in beauty with the rich, deep, blue- 
black hue of her lustrous locks ? Could azure eyes ri%'al 
her large, soft, dark, long-lashed orbs ? Could the rosiest 
cheek vie with the clear, pale, hue of her oval face? he 
asked himself as he looked on her. There was mind, soul, 
spirit, passion there. How came she among these common- 
place ladies, this creature all redolent and breathing of ori- 
ental life and loveliness ? Their daughter ! It seemed 
scarcely possible. 

Berenice seldom opened her lips or raised her eyes ; yet 
when she did either, her words and glances were full of 
sweetness and grace. 

The pleasant morning meal was much prolonged. 

But when, at last, brisk little Madam Journey gave the 
signal for all to rise from the table, she said : 

“ Gentlemen, the house is at your disposal. There are 
fires in all the rooms. When 3’^ou feel disposed to honor us 
with 3"our companj^ you will find us in our sitting-room, 
the one into which 3"ou were first shown. Pray, think 
yourselves at home and do just as you please.” 

Vane Vandeleur bowed and expressed his thanks in very 
courteous terms. 

Old Storms said ; 

Since we are left to our devices then, ma’am, I think I 
will find my way below stairs and see how my poor fellows 
are faring ; and then we will go and take a look at the Car- 
rier.” 

“ Do so. Captain. You will not have far to go to look 
for your brig. Euripides tells me that she is aground just 
below our long, old fields. We dine at two. Captain* 
Don’t be later than that ; for I shall be anxious to hear of 
the condition of the Carrier.” 

Thank 3"ou ma’am. I shall be punctual. I never was 
late at meals in my life ! — Will 3’ou come, Vandeleur? ” 


WIDOWyiLLE. 59 

Thanks, no. I prefer to remain with the ladies if they 
will kindly permit me.” 

** Well, well — that is a natural preference at your age. 
Good-bye till I see you again. Good morning, ladies.” 

And with that the captain left the room. But he was 
quickly back again, exclaiming : 

“Heaven bless my life and soul, I have got no hat !” 

“ Of course, when the wind turned the brig over and 
emptied j'^ou into the sea, you had no time to provide your- 
selves with hats, even if 3*^00 could possibly have kept them 
on,” said Madam Journey, touching the bell. 

“ You will iiave to call in the services of Commissary 
General Euripides,” laughed Mrs. Brooke. 

“ Go and bring down half a dozen hats for these gentle- 
men to fit themselves with,” ordered Madam Journey as 
You-Rip made his appearance. 

The old fellow did his errand quickly, and soon returned 
wdth quite a number and varietj’^ of “ tiles.” But among 
them all not one was found big enough to fit the big head 
of our giant, except the great cocked hat of the naval com- 
mander of Revolution arj" memor3\ 

“ I don^t look a bit of a masquerading guy at a country 
fair, neither, do I?” inquired old Storms, gathering his 
graj’^ brows into a knot, as he contemplated his image in the 
old-fashioned, blue-moulded pier-glass of the dining-room. 

Madam Journey laughed ; but Mrs. Brooke assured him 
that he looked, like the gallant old merchant-man that he 
was, let him wear what he would. 

With that the captain bowed low, and left the room. 
And he was soon seen crushing through the stubble-field, 
and breaking through the copsewood, followed by all hia 
crew, on his way to the stranded bark. 

The ladies left the dining-room, and dispersed' in different 
directions — that is to say, all but Madam Journey, who re- 
mained fluttering about the breakfast table, seeing to the 


60 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


safe removal of her costly silver-plate, and her fine Sevrei 
china. 

Vane Vandeleur made his way to the ladies’ sitting-room, 
as the most likely place for him to meet the soonest, the 
beautiful Berenice Brooke. 

The room was now empty of human beings, but full of the 
still life so suggestive of the frequent presence of youth and 
beauty. The guitar and the harp leaned against the piano. 
Tinted and scented note-paper lay scattered over the 
writing-desk. Delicate baskets, needle-books, pin-cushions, 
unfinished embroidery, afid other signs of woman’s work, 
were littered over the centre-table. He picked up one after 
another of these elegant trifles ; among the rest a cobweb 
handkerchief, light as mist, white as snow, and redolent of 
the heavy and passionate aroma of otto of roses. With a 
singular smile he held up this fine web, and saw in its centre, 
the initials B. B. 

‘‘I might have known that it was hers, without looking 
for her ciphers. I might have known it by its aroma of 
roses, for the rose is her flower ; and not the gay red rose> 
but the rich, pale, cream-colored tea rose.” 

And he pressed the delicate toy to his face, as if only to 
inhale its fragrance. He would have liked to put it in his 
bosom, and to keep it there, but — he was not yet crazy 
enough to commit a petit larceny. 

He turned from the table to look at the pictures on the 
walls. With the exception of the two mirrors, one of 
which filled up the space above the mantel-piece, and the 
other, that between the two tall front windows, the walls 
were literally covered with pictures. 

They seemed to be family portraits of many generations ; 
for there were gentlemen in the bag wigs, velvet coats, ai.d 
laced cravats, and ladies in the towering head cushior^;, 
long waists, and great farthingales of a century before. 
There were belles with the bare bosoms, short waists, and 


W I D O W V I L L E . 


61 


Scant skirts of Josepliine^s gay court, and beaux with the 
rolling velvet collars, efflorescent shirt ruffles, and stiff 
chokers of George Fourth’s reign. And there were ladies 
in the balloon sleeves and enormous bustles of the succeed- 
ing era. 

Among the pictures hung portraits of the three widows 
in their youth. There was Madam Journey as a golden- 
haired, azure-eyed girl, in the dress of a shepherdess, with 
a lamb at her feet, a crook in her hand, and chaplet of 
wild flowers on her head. There was Mrs. Dering, painted 
as Pallas, Minerva, Bellona, or some other warlike god- 
dess or battle-ax heroine, with helmet, lance, and shield. 
There was fair Posaniond Brooke, drawn as Flora, and 
crowned, canopied, and nearly covered with flowers. But 
nowhere was there a portrait of beautiful Berenice Brooke ; 
and nowhere in any of the “ counterfeit presentments ” of 
her forefathers and mothers, was the slightest likeness of 
herself to be traced. She might have been altogether of 
another race, for any resemblance between herself and her 
ancestors. 

While he was still staring at the pictures, the door 
opened, and old Euripides appeared with several big logs 
upon his shoulders. 

I recognize the portraits of the ladies of the house, but 
I would like you to show me those of their deceased hus- 
bands, if they are here,” said Vandeleur, turning to the 
old man. 

^‘Yes sir, certainly sir; with the greatest of pleasure, 
sir ; just as soon as ever 1 puts these logs on to the fire,” 
replied Euripides. 

And when he had accomplished his task, he came and 
placed himself at the disposal of the young man. 

‘•Show me first of all Captain Jernygham’s portrait,” 
said Vandeleur. 

‘‘ Yes sir ; come this way, sir, please. This is it hanging 


62 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


up in this recess, just above Madam Journey's work-table. 
She allers likes to sit tliere and work, and look up at the 
pictur, sir,” said Euripides, pointing to the portrait of a 
very large, dark-complexioned man, in the naval uniform 
of the Revolutionary age. 

His daughter, Mrs. Dering, is very like him,” remarked 
Vandeleur. 

“Miss Hortensia was the image of him, sir; that is, as 
much as a \a.dy can be the image of a gentleman.” 

“ And now. Colonel Dering? ” 

“Yes sir; this is him hanging over the piano,” said 
Euripides, pointing to the portrait of a fiery, red-haired, 
sanguine complexioned little fellow, in the army uniform of 
1812 . 

“ There is where Mrs. Brooke gets her roses and lilies,” 
said Vandeleur. 

“ Yes sir, it must be from her father, for Miss Rosamond 
never was a bit like her mother, either in looks or in 
ways.” 

“'How show me Mr. Brooke’s portrait,” said Vandeleur. 

“ Marse Ralph’s ? Oh, sir ! ” sighed the old man, as his 
face suddenly fell. 

“What is the matter?” inquired Vandeleur. 

“ Well sir, if you must know, Marse Ralph’s portrait aint 
never showed.” 

“ Oh ! if that is so, I will not, of course, ask to see it. 
I would not, upon any account, have you break a rule for 
my gratification,” said Vandeleur. But even while he 
spoke, he felt a greater desire than ever before to see the 
portrait of Berenice Brooke’s father, over whose past fate 
as over her future one, some dark, sad mystery seemed to 
hang. 

“ Oh no, sir, there is no rule, nor likewise no law ag’in’ 
showin’ of it, only we don’t like to look at it sir, that’s all. 
I’ll show it to you if you wish to see it sir.” 


WIDOWVILLE. 


6S 


I would rather not tax your feelings.’^ 

** Never mind my feelings, marster. Here’s the picter, 
sir. You would take this to be a windy, but it is only a 
false windy, put here for symmetry. Now look,” said the 
old man, drawing aside a curtain, from what had seemed a 
closed window, and revealing a picture that immediately 
arrested and riveted the attention of the beholder. It was 
the portrait of a very handsome man, of medium height 
and elegant form, with a stately head, covered with soft, 
rippling, blue-black hair ; classic features, and a pale, pure, 
olive complexion, lighted up by large, soft, deep, blue eyes.. 
So fine, so pure, so passionate; so delicate, so perfectly 
beautiful, was this face, that Vandeleur stood transfixed and 
spell-bound before it. It seemed to be Berenice Brooke in 
another dress. 

Vandeleur gazed on in mute admiration and wonder. 
What had been the fate of this man who was as beautiful 
as an archangel ? And was it his fate that so overshad- 
owed his daughter’s life as to, make it crime in her to love, 
and ruin for her to marry ? 

For some moments he gazed and brooded, and then at 
last he turned to the old man at his side and said : 

You began to tell me something about this gentleman, 
but 3^ou were interrupted. Will you go on with the 
account now — that is, if there is nothing improper in your 
relation of it.” 

“ Hi marster, how improper ? It was all in the news- 
papers ! ” 

Then proceed. I feel a deep interest in the subject.” 

Well marster, ’scuse me if I sits down here to ease my 
poor old bones. Ise been onto my feet ever since four 
o’clock this morning. And marster, you take that easy 
arm-chair and take your comfort there,” said the old man, 
dropping himself upon a footstool, and pushing a resting 
chair towards the stranger. 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


64 

Well ? said Vandeleur, as he sank into the offered 
seat. 

“ Well marster, now I’ll begin, sir, though it does a’most 
kill me even to think about it. Ah sir, a strange, sorrow- 
ful story ! You will scarcely be able to believe it ; and you 
had better not believe it neither, for if you do, it will go 
nigh to break your heart afore it is done.” 

“ But it has not broken the heart of his w’idow,” said 
Vandeleur, gravely. 

“ No sir, it hasn’t. But you’ll soon know the reason of 
that. And now, sir, listen. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE OLD man’s TALE. 

She -was a form of life and light 
That seen became a part of sights 
The Rose where’er I turned my eye. 

The Morning Star of memory. — B yboit. 

“ Well, sir,” said Euripides, commencing his story, *‘all 
my old mistisses were beautiful women in their day and 
generation, as I can bear witness who saw them in their 
youth ; and as you can see for yourself, by looking at their 
likenesses ; but, of all. Miss Rosamond was the most beaii- 
ful in her girlhood.” 

^‘She is beautiful still,” put in Vandeleur. 

Yes, sir, uncommon for her age; but. Lord, nothing to 
be compared to what she was at seventeen ! So bright, so 
blooming, so sparkling, so full of life, and light, and 
gaiety.” 

She seems very gay and happy even now.” 

Well yes, sir, so she do, quite wonderful so, for one as 
bad such a dreadful w’O ; but? Lord, not like she w’as then, 


THE OLD man’s TALE. 


65 


sir. Why, sir, she was a sunbeaai as would light up the 
darkest house or blackest hole you could put her into. She 
didn’t want no rouge for her cheeks, sir, nor no gold dust 
for her hair nyther; no, nor yet diamonds, where her eyes 
was. Why, sir, the whole county was in love ’long of her.” 

And you among the rest, old man ? ” smiled Vandeleur. 

“ You may say that, sir. I’d a-laid down any day and 
had my head chopped off, if it had been to please Miss 
Rosamond. And so would any man, boy, or beast about 
the place.” 

“ She was so much beloved ? ” 

Wasn’t she though, sir. Ah, but her bright spring- 
time was brief enough ! ” 

And the old man stopped, and dashed a tear from his 
eye. 

^^Go on,” said Vaudeleur, very impatiently, lest they 
should be interrupted again before his curiosity should be 
satisfied. 

Well, sir, on her seventeenth birthday, which came 
upon the first of May, my mistisses gave a great ball to 
celebrate the birth-day of their May Rose, as they called 
her. And they invited all the best people in the three 
counties around, including, of course, the priests of St. 
Rosalie’s.” 

Do priests attend balls ? ” 

I don’t know, sir, whether they do, as a general custom, 
but anyways Father Bonhomme ” 

“ Bonhomme ? ” exclaimed the jmung man. 

Yes, sir ; Father Bonhomme came to Miss Rosamond’s 
birth-day ball and, which is more, brought with him some 
one else who was not invited. And this was a young 
gentleman who was staying on a visit to the priests at St. 
Rosalie’s, and his name was Mr. Raphael Brooke.” 

The same who gathered your Rose of the World ? ” 

Yes, sir, the very same, sir. Well, sir, Father Bon- 
di 


66 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


lionime introduced him to my mistisses, who welcomed him 
as they would have welcomed any gentleman brought to 
the house by Father Bonhomme.’^ 

Or by anybody else, for that matter,” observed Yande- 
leur, remembering his own very hospitable reception by the 
ladies of Henuiker. 

“ Yes, sir, very likely. Well, my mistisses, in turn, 
introduced the stranger to all the best company in the 
house that night. And I tell you, sir, he made what the 

young ladies call a — a — a — sen — sens — sens ” 

Sensation?” suggested Vandeleur. 

“ Yes, sir, a sensation ; and if you believe me he was the 
handsomest man in the ball-room ; and if you doubt my 
words, there’s his portrait, sir, — ;you can examine it for 
yourself.” 

“1 can well credit your statement,” said Yandeleur 
raising his eyes to the veiled picture. 

Well, sir, the rumor went that more than our fair lady 
lost her heart that night ; but he, sir, — he had no eyes for 
nobody but our E-ose of the World.” . 

“ And she ? ” 

‘‘ And similarly, sit, she had no eyes for any one but him. 
If ever I saw love at first sight, sir, there it was. Well> 
sir, that night — that night of the birth-day ball, as if it 
were an omen of what was' to follow, the weather changed 
and we had one of the most awful storms of wind, rain, 
hail, thunder, and lightning that ever was. The storm 
lasted all night. The birth-day ball guests couldn’t git 
home. And the house couldn’t give, them all beds. How 
could it? It makes up but twenty beds in all; and there 
were two hundred people to be accommodated.” 

‘‘ They would have had to sleep ten in a bed,” laughed 
Vane. 

“Yes, sir; but that they couldn’t do. So, towards morn- 
ing, when they were all tired out and the wax candles were 


THE OLD MAN^S TALE. 


67 


burning low, the ladies they gradually stole olF up stairs, 
where the privilege of the few beds was given to the oldest 
of them — for there were some venerable old ladies there ; 
and also to the most delicate of the youngest of them. 
And the gentlemen, sir, they stayed down stairs, where they 
hev themselves down on lounges, and sofas, and easy chairs, 
and even on the rugs, or any where else where they could 
get a little rest. And so, sir, they all remained until we 
had cleared away the litter of the great supper in the 
dining-room, and prepared breakfast. And I do tell you, 
sir, it gave us servants work enough for several hours.’^ 

“ I think that quite likely,” laughed Vandeleur. 

Well, sir, so long as the storm lasted — it was over be- 
fore the big breakfast was finished — and all the beasts — (I 
beg their pardon) — the ladies and gentlemen were fed. 
But at long last, it was done ; and then the carriages began 
to come for the company, and they began to go. But, 
Lord, sir, it was most niglit before we got shut of them all. 
That is to say, all except Father Bonhomme and his friend. 
They couldn’t get away at all that night.” 
uWhy?” 

‘‘Because, sir, they lived at St. Rosalie’s, which was on 
the other side of the creek ; and the creek was so swollen 
by the tempest that it was dangerous, if not unpossible, to 
cross it.” 

“ I see. They w'ere storm-bound here ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

— “ As I am noio.^^ 

The stranger finished his sentence in an almost inaudible 
voice. 

“ Well, sir, they didn’t get away for several days, nor did 
they seem impatient to do so. Father Bonhomme always 
approved of the housekeeping at Henniker ; and as for the 
stranger, he w’as a man bewitched. Think of his being so 
much in love, sir, that he forgot to hide it from anybody. 


68 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


Why, sir, his eyes followed Miss Kose about as if she had 
been the loadstone and he had been the needle.” 

And she ? ” 

‘‘ Well, sir, she was just as far gone, and that’s the sacred 
truth. At last Miss Hortensia — I mean Mrs. Dering — 
noticed how things was a going on ; so one day, when me 
and her and the priest was in the drawing-room together — 
I was doing something about the room — I forget what ; but 
anyways Miss Hortensia never minded me no more ’an if I 
was a hat-rack or a plate-warmer. So, just as if she had 
been all alone witli the priest, she says to him, says she ; 

“ ‘ Father, who is that person you have introduced to 
us? ’ 

Now, master, I want yer to take notice that whenever 
our Miss Hortensia wants to put any body down low she 
calls them ^ person,’ and when she would put them down 
lower still, she calls them Hhat person.’ So says she; 

^ Who is that person you introduced to us ? ’ 

And says he : 

— < That gentleman, madam, is one who is quite worthy 
to be honored with your acquaintance, else I should not 
have brought him here.’ 

‘ That’s all very well, father j but who is he ? ’ says 

she. 

< Mr. Raphael Brooke,’ says he. 

“ ‘ So you said when 3- ou presented him ; but as Mr. 
Raphael Brooke is showing rather particular attentions to 
my daughter, and as slie does not seem disinclined to receive 
them, I should like to know something more of Mr. Brooke 
than his name,’ said our Miss Hortensia, very haughtily. 

‘ He is paying attention to Miss Dering, is he?’ said 
the priest. 

‘ He is,’ replied my mistress. 

“ ^ Then encourage him, madam. Rosamond could not 
do better— or as well. The young gentleman is of high de* 


THE OLD man’s TALE. 69 

scent and spotless character and many accomplishments. 
He is a faithful son of fhe church, and was designed to 
serve her altars ; but the death of liis elder brother left him 
the. sole representative of his family, and of course the sole 
heir to their estate, which is one of the largest in South 
Carolina. So at the earnest praj’-er of his dying mother, he 
abandoned his thoughts of entering the priesthood.’ 

^ Very much to his honor,’ said Madam Hortensia. 

“ ‘ If you wish to know how he came to be m}’- visitor, I 
must tell you that years ago, before mj’’ appointment to tin’s 
parish, I lived in South Carolina and was his preceptor. 
He has stopped on his way from Georgetown College, 
South, to paj" a short visit to his old master. I brought 
him to your ball. I hope I have not committed an indis- 
cretion ? ’ 

^‘‘ Certainly not, father,’ answered my mist’ess, ^ nor 
should I have thought it necessary to question j’ou in re- 
gard to your young friend, had not his attentions to Eosa, 
mond, and especially her favorable reception of them, given 
me some uneasiness. You must be aware, father, that a 
young man may be a faithful son of the church without 
being a desirable match for my daughter.’ 

“ ‘ Assuredlj’’, madam,’ said the priest, smiling a little. 

“And how much longer they might have talked on that 
subject, I don’t know, for just then walks in the young 
gentleman himself, looking as handsome, as his own picter 
there. Well, sir, so the next daj^ the priest thought they 
might venture to cross the creek, and so he and his young 
friend went away. But mind, sir, my mist’esses all pressed 
him to come again and to come soon and to come often.” 

“ An invitation which I presume the young gentleman 
was not inclined to slight,” smiled Vandeleur. 

“ You bet, master ! He called the very next day. He 
dined at Henniker three times that week. Well, sir, it 
was the first of Ma}^ when Master Eaphael first met Miss 


70 


THE FAMII.Y DOOM. 


Rosamond ana on the first of J uly they was engaged to be 
married, and on the first of October they was married \V ith 
the consent of all their relations and the good wishes of all 
their friends. Ah, sir, if they could have seen the end ! 
sighed the old man, drawing his coat-sleeve across his eyes 
and falling into a thoughtful silence that lasted until Van- 
deleur jogged his memory with an admonitory — 

« Well ? 

“ Well, sir, thej’- had a grand wedding — one of the 
grandest ever seen in these parts, I reckon. That wedding 
waked snakes, sir, that it did. Why it is said that it didn’t 
cost my mist’ess less than two thousand dollars. But then, 
you see, she was an only daughter, sir, and an heiress, and 
she was a marrying of an only son and an heir. So there 
was to be a great blow-out.” 

“ Naturally.” 

“After the wedding, sir, they went for a tour through the 
North and were gone about two months, or a little more. 
And then they came back here to spend Christmas with 
the old ladies before going down to their estate in South 
Carolina for the winter. Very anxious Miss Rosamond 
was to see this beautiful estate, which was called the ‘ Pal- 
mettoes,’ and about M'hich Mr. Ralph was always talking. 
Ah ! but she was doomed never to see that lovely place. — 
Marster, did you ever see a thunderbolt fall from a clear 
sky?” 

“ Yes, I have been in latitudes where such things some- 
times happen.” 

“ Well, I never saw no sich ; but I have heard tell of 
them ; and I can compare the sudden misfortune when it 
came to nothing but a thunderbolt out of a clear sky, sir,” 
said the old man, as once more he relapsed into thoughtful 
and sorrowful silence. 

“ You excite my curiosity and interest in the highest 
degree ! pray go on with your story,’ said Vandeleur, with 
earnestness. 


THE OLD man’s TALE. 71 

Give me a little time, sir, and I will,’’ pleaded the 
faithful old creature. 

He sat in silence for a few minutes longer, and then 
resumed his narrative : 

It was about three months after they were married, sir, 
and we were right in the midst of the Christmas Holidays 
and tlie house was full of the gayest company ; and every 
one was enjoying themselves in the very highest degree, 
with hunting and shooting, riding and driving in the morn- 
ings, and eating and drinking and dancing and waltzing 
in the evenings ; and among them all none so gay and 
happ3' as the bride and groom. Ah, sir ! ah, sir ! ah, sir ! 
One day — it was the last day of the old year, and a tine 
clear winter morning — the young pair, with the ladies and 
gentlemen of their party, were gathered ” 

“ Euripides ! Euripides 1 Euripides ! Where are you ? ” 
called the voice of Madam Journey from without. 

“ Here I am, mist’ess ! Been putting wood on the fire 
in the sitting-room ! Coming directly, ma’am ! ” answered 
the negro, and without a word of excuse he bolted out of 
the room. 

“ Am I never to hear the end of that story ? ” sighed 
Yandeleur, beginning to walk the floor. 

But the old lady met her servant on the threshold and 
stopped him there, saying: 

“ I have been looking at Captain Storms through my 
glass ; and I think that he wants more help than his crew 
can give him ; but I know that he would die before he 
would ask it. So go down to him, Euripides, and tell him 
that any or all of my boats and of my men are at his ser- 
vice if he can use them in securing his cargo and righting 
his vessel. And if he should accept my offer, then go you 
to my men and tell them to place themselves at Captain 
Storm 8 ’s orders. Now hurry off with yourself.” 

Having thus dismissed her faithful servant, the old lady 
entered the sitting-room and closed the door. 


72 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


I hope you find sometliing here among the books and 
musica] instruments to amuse you, Mr. Vandeleur,” she 
as she placed herself in her cliair beside her own especial 
little M’orkstand, over which hung the likeness of her 
deceased husband. 

“ Thanks. I have been most interested in these family 
portraits,” said Vane, with a smile. 

“ And with my old servant’s legends connected with 
them, eh ? He never was under fire in his life, yet noth- 
ing pleases him better than to fight over again the sea-figlit 
in which my husband fell, and the Indian skirmish in 
wliich my son-in-law was slain — as he imagined them to 
have been fought. He is a very good servant, but he has 
one great fault: he is an incorrigible gossip. I’ll warrant 
he bored you ? ” 

“ Not at all madam. He deeply interested me in the 
history of the gallant Captain Jernyngham, and the brave 
Colonel Dering” said Vane politely. 

“Yes, men were brave and gallant in those times, and 
women were modest and discreet. That is more, I fear, 
than can be said of their sons and daughters of these days. 
Well, well, I belong to an age that has passed away, and 
so without doubt I am behind the times,” said Madam 
Journey with a sigh. 

Vane was about to make some courteous disclaimer, when 
tlie door opened, and the beautiful Berenice Brooke entered 
the room. 

Vane arose with a bow, and sat a chair for her. 

She accepted the courtesy with a bright smile and a 
graceful bend of her head. 

And from that moment, as at breakfast. Vane Vandeleni 
had eyes and ears for nothing, and no one else in the room. 

“ Old Euripides has been at his tricks again, my dear 
Berry. He has been boring our guest with the history of. 
all our dead heroes,” said Madam Journey with a smile. 


THE OLD man’s TALE. 


73 


Berenice turned a very deprecating glance to^^ards her 
gTandinotherj and tlien a very pleading one upon her guest, 
as slie answered : 

“ I do not blame him at all. I tliink it is fine to see an 
old servant so identify himself with his mistress’s family, 
as to appropriate all its honors.” 

“ I agree with you entirely,” said Vandeleur, in a low 
voice. “ I was deeplj’' interested in the stories of your old 
retainer.” 

I am glad if he amused instead of fatiguing you,” 
observed Berenice. 

“ Thanks,” answered Vandeleur, with a bow. 

And as he glanced at his beautiful companion, he felt 
w’ell assured that neither Berenice nor her grandmother 
had the slightest suspicion that their old servant’s ruling 
passion had actually carried liira far beyond the bounds of 
discretion, in leading him to unveil the hidden picture, and 
to reveal at least a portion of its secret history. And he 
reproached himself that he had let curiosity, or even 
interest, blind him to the impropriety of listening to the 
servant’s tales, and encouraging his love of gossip. 

The next arrivals in the room were Mrs. Dering and 
Mrs. Brooke — the beautiful Rosamond of the negro’s story. 

And the ladies gathered around the central work-table, 
and with them and their young guest the morning passed 
pleasantly. 

A little before tw'o o’clock old Storms returned to the 
house, follo\ved by his man Jack, bearing a huge chest 
upon his shoulders. 

The old mariner came in red, hearty, jovial, and seeming 
to bring with him all the keenness of the wintry wind, and 
the crispness of the icy frost. 

‘‘ Sit that chest down in the hall, Jack, and leave it there j 
the madam will give it house room, I reckon. And you 
get yourself back to the brig as fast as you can, and bear a 


74 


THE F A M I I. Y DOOM. 


hand to getting out the cargo,’’ his hearty voice was heard 
to say, as he entered the house. 

The next moment he opened the sitting-room door and 
came in. 

“ Come to the fire. Captain ! You look frost-bitten,” said 
Madam Journey, making room for him. 

‘‘ Thank you madam. How are you ladies ? ” 

“We are much better for seeing you, Captain Storms. 
We have been pining over j^our absence,” said Mrs. Brooke. 

“All! yes; that is quite natural.” replied the veteran 
sailor, as he stood before the fire, warming his hands. 

“ And how about the vessel and the cargo. Captain ? ” 
inquired the old lad3^ 

“ The vessel, ma’am will not be righted to-day nor to- 
morrow. She lays with her masts towards the land. W^e 
shall have to wait until we can get the help of a larger 
craft than any we have got here now, before we can bring 
her round. But the cargo is all right ma’am. We are 
getting it out as fast as we can. And if you can give us 
storage for it, it will be safe.” 

“ I’m very glad to hear it. Yes, there’s the old tobacco 
house that is at your service, if that will do.” 

The very place, ma’am — thank you.” 

“ xind DOW, Captain, if you want to go to your room 
before dinner, you have just fifteen minutes.” 

“Thank you, madam. I have had my kit brought up, 
and would like to doff this revolutionary uniform for some- 
thing more appropriate to the nineteenth century, if you 
please ; and so if you will kindl}' permit one of youi ser- 
vants to help me carry my chest up stairs. I’ll be much 
obliged to you.” 

“ Certain!}^,” said Madam Journey, touching the bell. 

Euripides appeared, and was ordered to attend the Cap- 
tain, who then left the room, followed by the old servant. 

The dinner that day was worthy of the hospitaVty of 


THE O T. D man’s TALE. 


75 


Henniker and the houseKeeping of Madam Journey. Thera 
were fish, oysters, roast and boiled joints, poultry, forest 
game and water fowl. And there were exquisite pies, pud- 
dings, custards and jellies, such as could be prepared by no 
one else under the sun but Aunt Cuba, under the immediate 
supervision of Madam Journe3\ 

Old Storms was in Paradise. 

“ When I am at Widowville,” he frankly avowed, “ I 
think of nothing on earth but of eating.” 

^‘Not of the widows? Oh, Captain!” exclaimed Mrs. 
Brooke. 

“ When I think of eating I think of the ladies, ma’am^ 
in their most beautiful and amiable light of ” 

“ Cooks ! ” laughed Mrs. Brooke. 

— “ Housewives, ma’am. But it is quite true, and you 
must thank >mur own unequalled housekeeping for the fact. 
—Whenever I am staying at this house, Vandeleur, as soon 
as I open my eyes in the morning I think of my breakfirst 
. — of the rich coifee and thick cream, and the fresh butter 
and oh! the canvas-back ducks, and the oysters, and the, 
waffles, and all the rest of it, and I dress myself and go 
down as quick as ever I can. I never kept you waiting 
breakfast in my life, now did I, ma’am?” he inquired, 
turning to his hostess. 

Never, Captain. You never kept me waiting breakfast 
or any other meal,” laughed the old lad3^ 

“ Did I, though ? Not if I knew it ; for as soon as ever 
breakfast would be over I would begin to think how long it 
would be before dinner ; and as soon as that would be done 
I would commence to count the hours before supper ; and 
when that last meal of the da3’' would be finished, I would 
sigh to think there would be no more eating until the next 
morning. Don’t know how it is, but those are the simple 
facts of the case. I’m not such a gourmand anywhere else 
— that I know ! But whether it is the air, or the house, or 


76 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


the table, or the ladies, that affects me so salubriously I 
cannot tell ; but I know that when I am at Widowyille I 
oat and digest like an anaconda.” 

As the Captain made this rather objectionable speech, 
Berenice turned away her head and Mrs. Dering drew her- 
self up haughtilj’, but good-natured Mrs. Brooke laughed 
and said : 

May 3’ou live to enjoy good fare forever, old friend, sinco 
you appreciate it so well. And for my part,” said the old 
ladj’^, darting a rebuking glance towards her statel}’^ and 
arrogant daughter — “ for 1113^ own part, I like to see people 
eat and drink, and enjo3’’ their food, too, and show that they 
do, besides.” 

Then 3^011 must approve of me, ma’am,” said the old 
mariner. 

That I do. Captain ! And I would like to see you sit- 
ting there enjo3dng your meals every day of 3^our life ! ” 
answered Madam Jouriie3^, heartily. 

‘‘Come, Captain, that is a fair challenge,” laughed Mrs. 

• Brooke. 

“Is it, I want to know ? Ah, dear me ! no lady will 
ever look at such old fossil remains as I am. Why, Madam 
Journe3' gave me the sack fifty years ago, and I know I 
have not improved in attractions since then,” said the old 
man, with affected lugubriousness and a sigh like a sough 
of wind through his own sails. 

It was quite true, however, that 3’’ears before he had pro- 
posed for Madam Journey, and not only for her, but for 
each of the widows in turn. Madam Journe3" had laughed 
at him ; Mrs. Dering had frowned him into a collapse ; but 
pretty Mrs. Brooke, who was then 3mung enough to be his 
grand-daughter, had patted his cheeks and told him if she 
ever should change her mind it would be for his sake. 

Upon the whole. Old Storms was in love with all the 
widows of Widowville, not even excepting the lively old 
lad3^ who was his own cotemporary. 


THE OLD man's TALE. 77 

The dinner passed merrily enough. 

The afternoon was spent by the captain at the head of all 
the men of Heiiniker in securing his cargo ; and by the 
ladies and Vandeleur in conversation, music or reading in 
the sociable sitting-room. 

The old mariner, with the great force of Henniker 
added to his own crew, succeeded in clearing his vessel and 
storing his cargo before the sunset that day. He got back 
to the house in time to change his dress for supper, and he 
joined the ladies at the table, where a feast awaited him, 
which he declared surpassed not onl}' every meal he had 
ever eaten anywhere else, but even every one he had ever 
enjoyed at AVidowville. But then the captain^s hard work 
in the open air had given him a famous appetite. 

The evening was spent in cards and in music. 

The old mariner and the three widows played a rubber 
of whist. 

And Berenice and Vandeleur sang duets at the piano. 

The^' kept early hours at Widowville, so at ten o’clock 
exactly old Euripides appeared with a silver tray upon 
which stood a half-dozen lighted bed-room candles. 

Madam Journey arose and said : 

Gentlemen, the servant will show you to your sleeping- 
rooms when 3mu are read3\” 

Tlie old sailor was tired enough after his twenty-four 
hours of hard work on ship and shore against wind and 
tide, to feel willing to go to bed. So he got up to bid the 
ladies good night. 

And Vandeleur, whether he liked it or not, felt obliged 
tc follow his example. 

Old Euripides led them up stairs to the room in which 
they had changed their dress that morning. 

One of gentlemen, will sleep here, and the other 
in this inner chamber,” said Euripides, opening a door that 
communicated between two apartments. 


78 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


“Very weJl, we’ll settle that between us,” said old 
Storms. 

“ Here is wood enough to keep up the fires in both 
rooms, and here is hot and cold water, and clean towels. 
Anything else, gentlemen, if you please ? ” inquired Eurip- 
ides. 

“ No ; we don’t want anything else but sleep — so be off 
with you ! ” growled old Storms. 

Euripides bowed, and beat his retreat. 

“Now, Vandeleur, take your choice between the two 
rooms, will you ? I am as tired as a dog and want to go 
to bed.” 

“ Well, I will take the inner chamber,” answered Van- 
deleur, willing to give the larger and better apartment to 
the elder man. 

“ All right ; good night, and happy dreams to you ! ” said 
the Captain, by way of a gentle hint for the departure of 
his companion. 

But, instead of going, Vandeleur threw himself into a 
chair before the blazing fire, laid back his head, and stuck 
out his feet. 

“ Isn’t there afire in your room,” demanded the Captain, 
beginning to undress himself. 

“ Yes, I believe so,” said Vandeleur, coolly. 

“ Then why don’t 3'ou go to it ? ” 

“ I want you to tell me the story you promised me on the 
vessel,” said the young man. 

“ You want — what ? ” 

“ The story you promised me.” 

“ Well, you won’t get it. Didn’t I tell you in the begin- 
ning that, if I thought you would ever be in the neighbor- 
hood of Henniker, I never would tell it you at all ? And 
here you are at Widowville itself, right in among the 
Mndows, and you want me to tell you ! I’ll see you — wreck- 
ed lirst ! Go to bed, boy ! go to bed ! and don’t seek to pry 
into family’ secrets,” growled the old sailor. 


THE OLD MA^"’S TALE. 


19 


Vandeleur kept his temper ; he was much too curious and 
interested in the subject to aiford to lose it. So he said : 

“ Tell me, at least, is it absolutely certain that this young 
heiress must never marry ! ” 

“ Yes ; I told you so before. Now go to bed.’’ 

And now another question : do you know any thing of 
the history and fate of Mr. Baphael Brooke?” 

“ Maybe I do, and maybe I don’t, my young friend. Go 
to bed.” 

“At least, tell me this ; Was there anything in her 
father’s character or history that should prevent her mar- 
riage ? ” 

“ Nothing in the world. Bad as that was, there is some- 
thing much worse behind that. Good night !” 

“ Then her father’s life and story in no way alfects her 
destiny ? ” 

“ No. Good night ! ” 

“ And yet the old negro ” 

“ The old negro— he is in Ids dotage. If he were not, 
he never would chatter of family affairs to a stranger. He 
must be looked to. Good night ! ” 

“ Good night,” said the young man between a smile and 
a sigh, as he passed into his own room. 

A very cheerful room it was, with a wood fire burning in 
the fire-place, a bright red carpet on the floor, and snow 
white curtains around the bed, and at the windows. 

Indeed, all that he had yet seen within the house was 
briglit and cheerful. The ladies themselves appeared gay 
and happy. What then, was the dark pall of fate that 
overhung the youngest, the most lovely of their race, the 
darling, the treasure of their house, shutting out from her 
young life all the brightness of love ? 

Kuminating over these mysteries, Vandeleur felt no dis- 
position to retire to bed. He threw himself into the eas}'- 
chair before the fire, and gave his mind up to wonder and 
conjecture. 


80 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


Some little time passed and all was still. He heard th© 
deep breathing of the old sailor in his profound sleep in the 
adjoining room, heard the shiver of the dried leaves against 
the windows outside, and the low singing of the green logs, 
as they simmered on his fire. These lulling sounds were 
rather soothing than otherwise, and had not his mind been 
so active, his imagination so excited, he might have slept. 
Perhaps he did sleep, for he spoke of the strange experi- 
ence of that night, as a dream. 

While he sat there in his easy-chair upon the rug, the 
light of the fire suddenly flared up and then died entirely 
out. 

And forth from the darkness glided a form, black-robed, 
pale, shadowy — and with the features of Paphael Brooke. 

Vandeleur was about to rise and exclaim, when the spec- 
tral form paused before him, raised its white hand, and 
seemed to freeze him into ice, while from the pallid lips 
came these words : 

“ Fly for your life ! The cavern of the Circe was never 
more fatal than the halls of Henniker 1 ” 

“But why? — why?” exclaimed Vandeleur, recovering 
the power of speech and motion, and starting up to stay the 
ghostlj" visitor. 

But he found himself alone, with the fire black upon the 
hearth and the candle out in its socket. 

“ What a dream ! ” he said as, shivering with cold and 
with a nameless horror, he undressed in the darkness and 
crept to bed. 

And thus ended his first night in WidowvUlo. 


FATAL LOVE. 


B1 


CHAPTER V. 

FATAL LOVE. 

Devoted love will find its way 

Thro’ paths where wolves would fear to prey. 

And if it dares so much, ’twere hard 

Such brave love met not some reward. — B yrok. 

They kept early hours at Widowville. And this rule 
applied to the rising as well as to the retiring of the house- 
hold. However late people might sit up in their own room 
at night, that inexorable martinet, Madam Journey, had 
every able-bodied man and maid-servant up and at work by 
six o’clock in the morning ; and every member- of the fam- 
ily, and every guest in the house, who was not ill, gathered 
around the breakfast-board at eight. 

She was the oldest individual on the premises, she said, 
and if she could get up, it stood to reason other people 
might do the same. Madam Journey, like other martinets, 
made no account of difference in temperaments. 

So at seven o’clock precisely, old Storms was aroused 
from a deep dream of winds and waves, cargoes and billfl 
of lading, b}^ the loud reveille beat upon his door by tho 
ancient groom of the chambers, “ Euripides.” 

Welj ! well ! well ! well ! don’t beat down the door ! 1 

thought to be sure we were in a storm at sea, and the ship 
had struck a rock, and gone to pieces with a great crash. 
And it is you all the time, confound you, you barbarian,” 
growled old Storms, as he leaped gut of bed and opened the 
door. 

There stood You Rip,” with a bucket of cold water in 
one hand, a kettle of boiling water in the other, a load of 
fresh towels over his arm, and a basket of kindling-wood on 
his head. 

“ The Lord deliver us, what a donkey’s weight you carry ! 
Let alone a darkey for loading himself down with a heavier 


82 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


weight than the hardest master would lay on him, and 
all to save himself a few steps,” exclaimed old Tom. 

Well marster, what’s the use o’ making two errands 
when one would do ? ” 

“Nigger’s logic! But how in the deuce did you man- 
age to thunder such an alarm upon my door with all that 
encumbrance ? ” 

“ Put some on ’em down while I did it, marster.” 

“ And what the mischief did you mean, anyhow, b}’’ beat- 
ing such a deafening rataplan ? ” demanded the old sailor, 
gathering his brows, ‘ like a gathering storm.’ ” 

“ Please marster, mistress told me to tell you as she had 
got canvas-back ducks, steamed with celery sauce, for 
breakfast, sir, and as the}’’ ought to be eat the minit they 
are took from the fire,” said You Rip slyly, practising upon 
old Tom’s master passion. 

“What? canvas-back ducks ? has she indeed? and 
steamed too ? Delicious ! And with celery sauce ! Per- 
fectly delightful ! No one but your accomplished mistress 
should ever be favored with the possession of a canvas- 
back duck, for no one else knows how to cook one. Other 
idiots roast them, stuffed with sage and onions — pah ! ” 
exclaimed the old gourmand, as he hastily drew on his 
trousers. 

You Rip relieved himself of his burdens with perfect 
safety to them and to his own person, though it was a feat 
of gymnastics to let down either kettle or bucket, without 
dropping the basket of kindling-wood. However the 
“feat” was successfully accomplished, and the “Greek,” 
(as Mrs. Rosamond Dering often called him, in allusion to 
his name), proceeded to light the fire and fill the ewers in 
the captain’s room. 

Then he passed into the inner chamber, occupied by the 
young stranger, who still lay on the bed, with his hands 
clasped above his dark hair, not sleeping, but dreaming of 


FATAL LOVE. 83 

the beautiful girl who, scarcely twenty-four hours before, 
had crossed his path for the first time in life. 

“ Please, young marster, the ladies is all down stairs in 
their sitting-parlor sir,” said Euripides, using the argument 
he believed would be most likely to prevail with the 
younger guest. • 

“ Are they ? Then I must not keep them waiting break- 
fast,” exclaimed the young man, as he sprang up and pre- 
pared to dress. 

The “Greek” lighted his fire, filled his ewers, laid -out 
his towels, and tlien stood lingering, as if waiting orders. 

Veiy willingly would Vandeleur have cauglit at this 
opportunity of asking the old man to go on with his fam- 
ily history. But something that Captain Storms had said 
the night before, had raised doubts in the mind of Vane as 
to the honorableness of encouraging a servant to speak of 
family affairs. 

“ Can I do anything else for you, young marster, sir, if 
you please ? ” inquired You Eip, pulling the front lock of 
his wool, and lingering, as if anxious to stay, and perhaps 
willing to talk. 

It was a sore temptation to Vane, but he put it away 
from him, and answered kindly : 

“ Thanks, no ; you can go.” 

“On the table at eight precisely, sir,” said the old 
negro, as he bowed himself out of the room. 

Vane was soon ready, and went out to join his compan- 
ion who was impatiently awaiting him in the outer cham- 
ber. 

“ Well ! so you have come out at last. And now if the 
canvas-back ducks are spoiled it will be your fault,” 
growled the old man. 

“ A kindly morning salutation ; but look there ! ” 
laughed Vandeleur, pointing to the captain’s own chronom- 
eter that, saved from the ship, now adorned the mantel 


84 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


shelf. By your unerring guide it is now a quarter to 
eight, and we have fifteen minutes to spare.’^ 

They went down stairs and found the ladies in their 
favorite room. 

After the usual morning salutations they all went to 
• breakfast. Vane was permitted to lead Berenice to the 
table. He drew her little hand within his arm — her beau- 
tiful hand, that was at once so plump, so slender and so 
tapering. He felt it flutter like a bird in his clasp ; he 
felt it thrill him like a shock from an electric battery — her 
little potent hand with its magical touch ! He longed, yet 
dared not, to seek her eyes ; 3’^earned, yet ventured not to 
speak to her. A passion, sudden as it was overwhelming, 
possessed him, absorbed him, weakened, deafened, blinded 
him, for the moment — struck him dumb. Her clasp was on 
his arm. In a dizzy whirl of emotion, half strange pain, 
half keen delight, he placed her in her chair and took his 
own seat at the table. 

And the delicacies of the season ” were served. But as 
for him, the breakfast might have consisted of parched 
corn, or oatmeal porridge, for aught he knew of what he 
ate or drank that morning. 

You are a gone-er,” said old Tom Storms to him, when 
they found themselves alone in the sitting-room, after 
breakfast, before the ladies came in. You are a gone-er, 
Vandeleur.” 

What do you mean ? I don’t understand jmu,” said 
Vane. 

Why, when a man can eat canvas-back ducks, dressed 
as they are dressed at AVidowville, in such a fit of absence 
of mind as you ate yours, I mean to saj'^ he must be medi- 
tating matrimony or murder. I exonerate you of murder, 
so it must be matrimony. Now, which of the fair wddows 
of Widow ville is it ? — As for me, bio wed if I’m not in love 
with them all three, and with the old lady most of all. Be- 


FATALLOVE. 85 

cause why ? Eeason sufficient, she is the best cook all out ! 
Wonder why no man ever married either of them ? ” 

“Probably because no man could ever get either of 
them/’ said Vane. 

“ That’s it, 3mu may depend ! No man could ever get 
either of them. I suppose the}’- love their liberty too well. 
It is said that a woman is never free until she is a widow. 
In her girlhood she is under her parents; in her wifehood 
she belongs to her husband ; but in her widowhood she 
belongs to herself. So I suppose these ladies love their 
liberty. But, blest if I think three charming women have 
any right to live as they have lived. Blamed, if the laws 
would let me, if I wouldn’t coax ’em all to marry me ; but, 
you see, the laws won’t. Call this a free country indeed ! 
where a man is not allowed to be guided by his own 
conscience in these strictly domestic matters. I have a 
great mind to emigrate to Utah and take all the widows 
along with me,” ?iaid old Storms, as he poked the fire and 
raised a shower of sparks. 

“ Do so, Captain ; but don’t forget the little preliminary 
of winning the widows’ consent,” laughed Vandeleur. 

“ Ah ! ta, ta, ta, ta, that’s understood ! ” crowed old Tom, 
patting him on the head. 

“ It is a wonder to me. Captain, why such a devoted 
squire of dames as yourself never married again,” said 
Vane, carelessly. 

He was looking out of the window, and paying really 
very little attention to the words of his old friend. 

“ Haven’t I just told you the reason ? The law wouldn’t 
let me marrj^ all the ladies, and I couldn’t make up my 
mind to take one and leave the rest.” 

“Considerate But come here. Captain, do, and tell 

me who is that queer old creature coming to the house ? 
Is it not the veritable Wandering Jew?” inquired Vane, 
breaking off with sudden animation to ask this question. 


86 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


01(1 Tom slowly approached the window and looked out. 

The figure that was seen approaching might well have 
been mistaken for le Juif Errant, It was that of a smalb 
thin, dried-up old man. He was clothed in a long, rusty 
cloth coat that was buttoned closely round his body and 
reached nearly to his feet, which were shod with old, shabby 
shoes. His head w^as covered with an old, high-crowned 
hat that might once have been black, but was now worn 
down to a napless, rusty brown. In his hand he bore a 
long staff, upon which he leaned. With his head bowed 
upon his breast, the features of his face could not be fairly 
seen. He seemed to be an hundred years of age at least. 
He might well have been taken for some ancient pilgrim or 
hermit, or, as we sa’d, for the Wandering Jew himself. 

“In the name of Methuselah who is tliat odd old fossil?” 
again inquired Vane. 

The captain lowered his voice as he answered : 

“ He is Father Ignatius, the oldest priest of St. Rosalie, 
and the holiest man in the community.” 

“Father Ignatius? — St. Rosalie? Didn’t I hear some- 
body say something about a Father Bonhomme being priest 
of St. Rosalie ? ” 

“Possibly — but 3 ’ou didn’t hear me saj’’ so; probabl^’it 
Avas that leaky old vessel. You Rip. At any rate, there is 
more than one priest at St. Rosalie’s ; there are — there are 
three : Father Ignatius here, who is the oldest ; Father 
Bonhomme, who is the second ; and Fatlier Francis, who is 
the jmungest ; and each as difierent in all respects from the 
others as it is possible for men to be. You see what Papa 
Ignatius is — a little, old, dried-up, bent-over anatomy of a 
man. Well, Papa Bonhomme is middle-aged, short, fat, 
round and rosy, with merry blue eyes and a chirruping 
voice. And Father Francis is young and handsome, tall, 
and slender, with hazel eyes and brown, waving hair ; and 
fit to turn the heads of all the girls in the country if he 


F A T A L LOVE. 


87 


were not a priest. But liere is the old codger exjining up 
the steps. We shall have him in here soon,” said old Tom. 

Vane was watching that ancient man, whose form and 
face attracted him as by some weird spell. His face, on 
nearer view, was a wonder to behold. It was such a hoary 
ruin of a face ; so pale, so gray, so worn, so shrunken, so 
withered, so wrinkled. There was but little hair upon 
his head, and that was white as lint; there was not a ves- 
tige of eyebrows left ; and his e3'es were extremely small, 
jet black, and, deeply sunk into their sockets; but, wonder 
of wonders they were as clear and brilliant as the orbs 
of youth. His hand shook and trembled as he stretched it 
out to raise the knocker. 

So much Vane was enabled to notice him from his post 
of observation at the window, before the door was opened 
and the visitor disappeared within tlie hall. 

Then they heard voices — first the weak, quavering, trem- 
ulous tones of the old priest, asking : 

Is Madam Jernyngham at honm and disengaged at this 
hour?” 

And then they heard the reverent tone of Euripides, 
ix?plying: 

‘‘ La, yes, marster-father ; old mist’ess hardly ever goes 
\vay from home these here days.” 

Then let her know that I am here. She sent for me.” 

And she expects you, marse, does old mist’ess ; for she’s 
good and shot herself up to wait for jmu.” 

“ All ! Madam relied upon me. IShe had reason. Show 
me to her presence then.” 

And then the voices ceased and the steps passed on. 

The old madam has sent for her guide, philosopher and 
friend for a private interview. There is something up!” 
said Old Storms. Yes, yes, there is something up. There 
is something up ! ” 

— With which we have no sort of concern,” observed 


88 


THE FA MILT DOOM. 


Vane, with significance, meaning to pay the captain off fof 
his rebukes of the night before. 

“ No, that’s true, we hayen’t, so I’ll go and look after my 
ship,” laughed old Tom, Leaving the room. 

But when Vane Vandeleur made his last speech he was 
much mistaken. He had some concern in the priest’s visit. 


CHAPTER VT. 

THE OLD PRIEST OF ST. ROSALIE. 

Ilis Tery manners teach amend, 

TI)ey are so even, gnive and holy ; 

No stubbornness so stiff no folly, 

In license ever was so light. 

As twice to trespass in his sight; 

Ilis look would so correct it when 

It chid the vice, yet not the men. — B eit Joitsow. 

Madam Journey, unlike many ladies of the old style, 
never aftected much state. She was thoroughl}^ domestic, 
an excellent manager, and household economy was her hob- 
by. She kept but a small retinue of servants, was her own 
housekeeper and received her intimate friends as often as 
not “in her housekeeping room,” — a pleasant apartment in 
the rear of the dining-room, where she kept her pickles and 
preserves, lier home-made wines and cordials, and her lino 
china and glass; and whence she issued her orders to iier 
cook in the back kitchen. 

On this particular morning the old lady stood before a 
large open cupboard, engaged in weighing out spices and 
candied fruits for the day’s pudding. 

By her side stood Hecuba, or Cuba, as she was generally 
called, holding in her hands a large waiter upon which stood 
several plates to receive the condiments in question. This 
Hecuba was a tall, thin, scraggy negro woman, with large 


THE OLD PRIEST OF ST. ROSALIE. 80 


features, tliat would have been very harsh had they not 
been redeemed by mild, beaming black eyes and a smiling 
mouth that revealed rows of perfect teeth that any young 
beauty might have envied. 

If Euripides was Madam Journey’s right hand, Hecuba 
was her left. Hecuba filled in her department the position 
corresponding to that of Euripides in his. She was head 
cook, chief laundress and upper housemaid. To be sure, 
she had two or three young colored girls under her, to 
lighten her labors ; but who, she declared, were the plagues 
of her life because they hindered more than they helped 
her, and made more work than the}' did. 

“ And now, Cuba,” the old lady was saying, ‘‘ be sure 
you <lon’t go and grind the all-spice in the coffee-mill again, 
as you did the last time. It spoils both the spice and the 
cofl'ee. I vow I haven’t got over the burning in my 
stomach yet, that you gave me through grinding that mace 
in the coffee-mill and afterwards grinding the mocha in it.” 

“ ’T wasn’t me, mist’ess. ’Deed it ’t wasn’t. I told you 
so before, you ktiow. It was that there good-for-nothing 
gal Sary. And she left ’bout half a ounce o’ mace into the 
mill and ground it up long o’ the coffee , — that she did ! 
She’ll j)isen us all some of these days, — that she will. 
Jlidn’t I catch her yesterday morning agreasing of the 
griddle for the buckwheat cakes, with the end of a tailor 
candle ! ” exclaimed Hecuba, with an aggrieved and indig- 
nant expression. 

“ But you must look after her, you must see to her, 3'ou 
must teach her, ’Cuba. You can’t expect a green young 
kitchen maid to know her business by instinct. You must 
teach her and watch her.” 

“ Well, then I’d a heap leifer do all the work myself. 
’Sides which I can’t keep my eyes on ’em all. Why this 
very morning as ever was, while I was showing that ninny- 
hammer how to shred the celery for the sauce, didn’t that 


90 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


tliere other noodle in the wash-house go and pop all Miss 
Hortensia’s thread laces down into the blue-water — offen 
and otFen as I’ve tolled her laces ought to have a yaller 
tinge and not a blue one ! — Mist’ess ! mark ray words — 
them there galls will turn my brain yet !” 

Just as these ominous words were spoken, and before 
Madam Journey could reph" to them, the door was opened 
by Euripides, who announced : 

“ Eather Ignatius, madam.” 

The poor old broken-down priest entered alone. The ser- 
vant retired and closed the door after him. 

There, Cuba, take these things out at once and mind 
what I told you,” said the old lady, quickly dismissing her 
attendant. 

Then turning to her visitor and spiritual director, she 
held out her hand, saying : 

How do you do, Father Ignatius. Take this chair and 
sit down at once. Give me your hat. I thank you for 
coming so soon ; though I hardly dared to expect j’-ou to- 
day. The creek is so rough. You found it so, did j’^ou 
not ? ” 

“ The creek is rough,” admitted the old man, as ho sank 
wearilj' into the offered chair and placed his old napless hat 
on the floor beside him, — “ the creek is rough ; but we 
crossed it in safety.” 

‘•Ah, father, you always come when you are called. Wo 
should all consider that and be very careful how we call you. 
You give yourself no rest.” 

“ I have all eterpity to rest in that is, if my sins will 

let me,” replied the priest, meekly bowing his head. 

“Your sins! I wonder what they are! — Oh, I know ! 
Sins against yourself! Depriving yourself of the barest 
necessaries of life that others may have its comforts.” 

“‘Having food and raiment,’ I ‘should be therewith 
content,’ ” murmured the priest. 


THE OLD PRIEST OF ST. ROSALIE. 91 

— And venturing out in all weathers without the slight- 
est regard to your own life and health, no matter how un- 
important may be the errand upon which you may be call- 
ed,” continued Madam Journey, finishing her speech 
without regard to the priest’s inteijected disclaimer. 

But, my daughter, I knew that when you sent for me, 
the matter in which I was wanted could be no trifle.” 

“ I’m not so sure about that. It may be an affair of the 
greatest interest ; or it may be an old woman’s fancy.” 

“ And am I to be the judge to decide which it is to be, my 
daughter ? ” 

Yes, father.” 

“ What is it, then ? ” 

“ You heard of the shipwreck on our shore ?” 

“I heard about the ‘Carrier’ being blown ashore and 
capsized. Your messenger told me that; but he also told 
me that no lives had been lost and that neither vessel nor 
cargo had sustained any serious injurj".” 

“ No ; loss of time and labor seem to be the worst conse- 
quences,” said Madam Journej^, reflectively ; ‘‘ but, father, 
there was one passenger came by that vessel ; — onlj^ one. 
He is a young man, a stranger in these parts, and he is 
staying in this house, tt is of him I wish to speak.” 

“ Well, my daughter?” 

— “ Now what, of all the names in the world, do you 
think his name is ? ” 

“ A large number to choose from. I am an ill hand at 
guessing,” gently replied the priest.” 

“ It is Vane Vandeleur.” 

“Vane Vandeleur! ” exclaimed the priest. 

“Yes, father, when he named himself to me, you might 
have blown me over with a breath — I couldn’t recover my- 
self for some time.” 

“ Vane Vandeleur ! ” again exclaimed the priest. 

“ Yes, I say.” 


92 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


It is very extraordinary.” 

Isn’t it now ; do you wonder that I sent for you ? ” 

“ Not at all ; all my wonder is employed upon that name. 
It cannot be a mere coincidence of names ? ” 

Why, no ; how can it? If it were John Thompson, or 
Thomas Johnson, or James Brown, or any such common 
name, it might be a mere coincidence; but Vane Vande- 
leur, father ! ” 

The old priest, holding the staff between his knees> 
bowed his head down upon it in deep thought. 

“ But he spells his name V-a-ii-e V-a-n-d-e-I-e-u-r.’* 

“ Not as it stands in the old documents and records ? ” 

“ No ; for there it is written V-e-3-n-e V-a-n-d-e* 
1 -i-e-r-r-e — Veyne Vandelierre.” 

“ You are sure of this difference in the spelling?” 

“ Yes ; I am familiar enough with that in the old land 
patents, and I saw his on his pocket-handkerchief.” 

“ The sound is the same ; the name is the same ; tlie dif- 
ference in the orthography may be the effect of time, 
chance, or caprice. Wluit is he like, this young man.” 

“ He is very handsome, father, very handsome indeed — 
one of the handsomest young men you ever saw in your 
life.” 

“ So was the other one, it is said. But that is a woman’s 
description and tells nothing. There is an endless variety 
in liandsome men. Be more explicit, iny daughter.” 

“ Well, he is of about the middle height, I should say ; 
slender, well knit, and very graceful ; he has abundant dark 
hair, and largo dark eyes ; his complexion is also verj’ dark 
— too dark for any American who has not a streak of African 
orTndian blood in his veins ; his voice is soft and his wa3^s 
are gentle ; he looks like a foreigner, and dresses, moves, 
and speaks like a gentleman.” 

“ Hum — have 3^011 any likeness anywhere of the other 
•ne ? ” 


THE OLD PRIEST OF ST. ROSALIE. 93 

I don’t know. I remember there used to be an old worn 
oil painting, blurred and cracked, and nearly illegible, that 
was thrown away among the worst rubbish in the garret 
where I used to play when I was a child. It was said to 
have been his portrait. It may be in some cuddy hole there 
still.” 

“ I should like to see that portrait. It might enable us to 
identify this man.” 

“ Good gracious, father, you never imagine this young 
stranger to be the same man !” exclaimed Madam Journey, 
pale and aghast. 

Why, no ; how could that possibly be ? Do the dead 
rise again in this world, or does youth ever come back to the 
aged? My good daughter, compose 3mur mind and collect 
jmur wits. Of course, j’on know what you suggested to be 
an impossibility?” 

“ Of course, I do. But oh, father, the name — the name 
and — the likeness ! for, as I reflect, the memory of that old 
portrait returns to me, and its resemblance to this stranger 
grows upon me.” 

“ This j'oung man may possibly be a descendant of the 
other one. His child lived, you know?” 

Oh, yes.” 

What ever became of him ?” 

I do not know ; if I ever heard, I have forgotten.” 

Can 3mu tell me nothing, then ?” 

“ It was said that the Lady Berenice sent him away from 
the neighborhood under the charge of a Jesuit brother who 
was going to Louisiana. I heard no more than that; if I 
did, I have forgotten what. But oh, father!” exclaimed 
the old lady, suddenly clasping her hands. 

W^hat now?” gently inquired the priest. 

“ That, after this long lapse of years there should be met 
under this roof another Vane Vandeleur and another 
Berenice.” 


94 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


Well, it is a curious coincidence — nothing more, though 
they are both uncommon names.” 

“ Oil father, father, the first meeting was the beginning ; 
the second may be the end. It looks as if the old curse were 
closing around us.” 

“ The curse ? My daughter, how often have I prayed 
you to put away that old superstition from your soul ? No 
man nor woman has power to curse another. Only God has 
that power ; and He spares us. But we curse ourselves 
with our sins and follies. That old malediction is but a 
family legend, as undeserving attention as any ghost story 
that ever was told to frigliten children in the dark. Your 
faith in it is a superstition and a sin,” said the priest 
solemnly. 

Oh, but the curse clings — it clings !” exclaimed the old 
lady, clasping her hands with more passion and vehemence 
than an}" one would have suspected to belong to her nature 
— “ it clings ! it clings ! See how it has followed us down 
from generation to generation, from that time to this. And 
now the circle is complete. It is closing around us to crush 
us out.” 

Let it be forgotten. The remembrance of a prophecy 
often brings about its fulfilment. Let this be utterl}" for- 
gotten. It lives now only in the memory of three old peo- 
ple — you, and myself, and another. We shall soon pass 
awa}", and with us all memory of that old tradition. While 
we live, let us not speak of it, believe in it, or even think 
about it. The advice I gave you in your youth, I reiterate 
now in your age.” 

And have I not been guided by your advice ? I 
received the story as an heir-loom from my mother, as she 
had it from hers. But it went no farther. You bade me 
arrest it then — lock it in my own bosom and keep it there, 
that it might, perchance, die away. Well, I obeyed you, 
father. I kept the secret to myself. I keep it still. I 


THE OLD PRIEST OF ST. ROSALIE. 95 

never breathed a hint of it to my daughter, or my grand- 
daughter, or to the child, Berenice ; no, not even under the 
greatest temptations. Well, the secret stopped with me. 
But has the curse so stopped ? No ; but it has followed us 
down from generation to generation as before. It fell upon 
Hortensia, it fell upon Rosamond, it threatens Berenice. 
It clings, it clings, and now it is closing ’round to crush 
us I” 

And here the old lady fell to weeping and moaning. 

The priest watched her in silence for a while, and then 
said, very gravely : 

“ Mrs. Jernyngham, this is so unlike your usual excellent 
sense that I can in no way account for your emotion. But 
you said ju-st now that you had hidden this secret in your 
bosom, in spite of the greatest temptation to disclose it. 
Will you tell me in what these greatest temptations con- 
sisted ? ” 

First, when Colonel John Bering came here as a suitor 
to my only daughter, I was tempted to tell the story and 
stop the marriage ; but I remembered my promise to you, 
and refrained.” 

“ And you were entirely right.” 

And yet see what came of it.” 

That was no fault of yours. But what was the second 
tempation ? ” 

It was when Raphael Brooke appeared and asked tlie 
hand of my grand-daughter Rosamond. Again I was 
tempted to tell the story and stop the sacrifice ; but again 
the memory of my pledge withheld me. And what were 
the consequences? The marriage went forward, and a few 

months afterward But let that pass. I cannot bear 

to speak of it. And there came a third temptation, greater 
than all that went before. 

And that?” 

Was when Rosamond’s child was born, and the newly- 
Nvidowed young mother •said to me ; 


96 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


‘ GrannaiHj we will call our fatherless little maiden 
Berenice, after our sainted ancestress, and so ward off from 
her all the ills of orphanage.’ ” 

“ What could I say to her ? I did wish to toll her that 
this ^sainted ancestress’ had been an awful sinner, before 
ever she was a holy saint ; hut that her sins were not 
spoken of because they lay deeply out of sight, or revealed 
themselves but darkly in the curse that continued to cling 
to her race. And that her piety only was remembered in 
the monument she had erected to herself — the chapel of St. 
Bosalie. But again 1 was restrained by the remembrance 
of my promise. I could not tell her these truths, nor 
could she suspect their existence. So she named her child 
after Berenice — after the Accursed.” 

After the Sainted. My daughter, the reputed sin of 
that lady is but a subject of tradition, while her unques- 
tionable holiness is a matter of history. We have no sort 
of proof that she ever committed the crime or incurred the 
curse connected with her name ; while all around us we 
have the monuments of her good and great works.” 

“ Then if she never was guilty of that enormous sin, 
and if her descendants never were accursed for her sake, 
wdiy is it, why is it, I ask you, that the fearful punish- 
ment her crime is said to have imposed upon us, has fol- 
lowed us all ever since her day ? Has followed us for five 
generations ? ” 

“ I do not know,” meekly replied the priest. 

“ No, Father Ignatius, j^ou do not know. And you can 
neither deny the facts nor explain them.” 

“ I do not deny them, nor pretend to explain them, 
except as a chain of remarkable coincidences.” 

‘ Co-incidences ! ” a most convenient word, my father. 
If a dream is fulfilled, it is a co-incidence. If an event 
that is predicted, occurs, it is a co-incidence. And here is a 
curse that is said to have been laid upon our race, for the 


THE OED PRIEST OF ST. ROSALIE. 97 

sill of an ancestress, and which has been literally carried 
out in every generation, and you call the whole set o^ facts, 
a chain of co-incidences. Father you^make me think of 
old Hecuba and her ghost.” 

The priest looked up inquiringly, and the ladj*^ went on : 

‘‘After she had recovered from tj'phoid fever, Hecuba 
was haunted nightly by a ghost, whose appearance she mi- 
nutely described to me. I understood, or at least I thought 
I understood the whole thing, so I assured her that her 
ghost was but an optical illusion. She answered : 

“ ‘ Can’t help what you call it, mist’ess. You may call it 
any name you like, but dar it wos, and it scared me all but 
to death.’ l^^ow I do not care what you call the family fate 
that follows us, HERE IT IS ; and it makes me miserable.” 

“ Because you believe in the curse. It is 3'our faith in it 
that brings about its fulfillment.” 

“ Father ! father ! Did Hortensia believe in it ? Did 
Bosamond ? Did either of them even know of it, or sus- 
pect it ? Yet it was fulfilled in the lives of Hortensia and 
John Dering, and in those of Rosamond and Raphael 
Brooke. And now, and now, it threatens Berenice and this 
young stranger, Vane Vandeleur. In them it will be final- 
ly consummated. I know it, father. I know it, by the 
foreboding conjunction of those two names in this house, and 
their identity with those two other names. The curse will 
end where it began, and the circle of fate will be complete,” 
said Madam Jouriie}^, with a shudder that shook her whole 
slight frame. 

“ How, was ever such lamentable superstition found 
before in a civilized and Christian woman of the nineteenth 
century ! ” sighed the priest. 

“Call my anxiety by what name jmu will, you know 
that it has a just foundation.” 

“ What has brought all this question up just now?— th« 
presence of this young stranger who bears the old name?” 

6 


98 , 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


course it isj and cause enough to revive the old 
grief and horror. But that is not all, father : he is struck 
'with Berenice, and she with him ! ” 

^‘What! and they have been together but little moi*© 
than twenty-four hours! exclaimed the priest, in doubt. 

“ Yes ; and they are smitten with each other.” 

“^Even so quickly may one catch the plague!^ as the 
|)oet says in the only book I care to read, except the Bible 
and the Cook’s Guide.” 

“ This should be looked to ! Certainly, this .should be 
looked to! Leaving his supposed ill-omened name out of 
the question, the society of an attractive young man, of 
whose character and jx)sition you know little or nothing, 
must be very objectionable for a young girl of Berenice’s 
age and station,” said Father Ignatius, very gravely. 

“ And the worst of it is that we are likely to have him. 
here for an indefinite time. If t])e weatlier continues as 
cold as it is now’, the creek will be frozen over to-night, and 
then goodness knows when that brig will be righted, and he 
will get away.” 

‘‘ You must in any ease get rid of liim,” insisted Father 
Ignatius, deliberately. 

“ That is easy said ; but how is it to be done? — A ship- 
wrecked traveller, cast upon our coast ? Why, fatlmr, he 
must be entertained and treated kindl}^, and made to feel at 
home, cost what it may in embarrassment. I do believe I 
would rather die outrigl^t than say or do anything to make 
such an one feel that lie is not %velcome and must leave.” 

“ That is not necessary. This matter may be manage<t 
in a different manner. There are tactics in war. Some- 
thing must be done. Let me think 1 see. In compli- 

ment to these guestsof yours, you may give a small dinner 
party ; invite Major Hourie and his nephews, Air. Dickson 

Storms and liis ward, and ” 

Yourself, good father.” 


THE OLD PRIEST OF ST. ROSALIE. 99 

Ko, no, not me ; but my Brothers Bonbomme and 
Francis.” 

And then, father ? ” ^ f 

‘‘ These guests will make the acquaintance of this young 
stranger. They will press their hospitality upon him in 
such a manner that he can not well decline. Major Hourie 
will do so, and he never takes a denial. But should not 
IVEajor Hourie succeed in bringing away your bete noir, I 
will so instruct Father Bonhomme that he shall not fail to 
bring him to us at St. Kosalie, where we will try to keep 
him.” 

“ Oh, dear Father Ignatius, how good, you are — how very 
good ! ” 

The priest waved his hand. 

“ My daughter, such words to me who know myself to be 
so evil, are very painful. But to return. I will undertake 
in a few days to relieve you of your dangerous guest. In 
the meantime, look well to him and to your girl. Let them 
have no opportunity of talking soft nonsense together, or 
looking sentiment into each other’s ej^es. I will see you 
again to-morrow, and talk farther of this matter,” said the 
i>riest, rising, 

Father, you are not going?” 

“ I must, my daughter. I have a sick woman on this 
side of the creek, to whom I must administer the consola- 
tions of the Church this morning. Good daj'^ to ymu.” 

“But fatlier, stay! Our dinner will be ready at the 
usual hour. Pray remain to bless our meal.” 

“Many thanks ; but it is quite impossible.” 

“ At least let me give you a glass of wine and a slice of 
cake.” 

“Nay, the errand I go upon, precludes me from such in- 
dulgences. Many thanks all the same. And — Benedicite, 
my daughter,” said the old man, as he placed his napless 
liat upon his head, buttoned his rusty coat about him, took 
his staff in his hand, and slowly left the room. 


100 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


CHAPTER VIT. 

WITCHCRAFT. 

Upon his hand she laid her own. 

Light was the touch, but it thrilled to the bone, 

And shot a chilliness to his heart. 

Which fixed him beyond the power of art — Bteok. 

One of Madam Journey’s predictions was fulfilled almost 
immediately. As the day advanced, the weather grew 
colder and colder, and the night that followed was one of 
the coldest ever known in that latitude. Before morning, 
the creek was frozen over. 

“ Well, here we are, with our navigation closed until 
next March, I suppose !” exclaimed old Tom, as he joined 
the family circle that was gathered around the blazing fire 
in the ladies’ sitting-room that morning, before breakfast. 

‘‘Well Captain, what odds? You are at home, or near 
it; your cargo is secured; and your vessel is safe where it 
lies. You have a holiday ; that is all ; make the most of it 
and enjoy yourself. Cold weather is the season for mirth 
and festivity,” said Madam Journey cheerily. 

The presence of lier guest, or at least that of the stranger, 
with the ill-omened name, really disturbed the old lady so 
much, that she would have very much preferred their absence. 
But for all that, she liked them both personally, and under 
less formidable circumstances she would have enjoyed their 
company ; and even now, having them before her, she could 
do no otherwise than press her hospitality upon them, in 
terms that assured them of a sincere welcome. 

“ You are very good to us, Madam Journe}’’, very good 
indeed, but that is no reason why vve should trespass upon 
your kindness,” returned old Storms. 

“ Trespass ! You know it is no trespass. You know 
that here at Henniker, we are always very happy to have 
company staying with us to break the tedium of our lives. 


WITCHCRAFT. 


101 


Come ; I dare say you will find it very dull here ; but we 
will do our best to amuse you. I shall send out to-daj” and 
ask a few of our neighbors to come and meet you at dinner 
on Saturda3% I think you may be pleased with our neigh- 
bors, Mr. Vandeleur. Captain Storms tUere can tell you 
something about them,” said the old lady, kindly. 

“ About whom ? Old Hourie, for instance ? inquired 
the Captain. 

‘‘ Yes, you may tell about him, for I shall invite him. 

‘‘Well, he’s ‘a fine old Southern gentleman, all of the 
olden time,’ and a sort of cross between a French nobleman 
of t\\Qancien regime^ and an English fox-hunting squire of 
to-day. Major Hourie of Hourie Hall — which the natives 
have simplified to Old Hurrah, of Hurrah Hall. If he 
should take a fancy to you, he will give you some excellent 
sport.” 

“ I shall certainly try to merit this grand signior’s good 
opinion,” said Vane, with a light laugh. 

“And, then, there are his two nephews — Ernest Blacki- 
stone and Clarence Fairlie, the sons of his two deceased 
sisters,” continued the captain. 

“Yes,” added Madam Journey, “ and as the old gentle- 
man is a widower without children, these two young men 
will be his heirs.’ 

‘- They are very fine boys,” put in Mrs. Bering, “ very 
fine indeed, though perfect contrasts to each other. Young 
Blackistone — who, by the way, is the older of the two lads 
— is tall and slender, with a dark complexion and jet black 
hair, and black beard and black eyes. He is much given to 
field sports, like his uncle. Clarence Fairlie is of medium 
height j in form and feature as delicate, and in cornplexioii 
as fair, as any young lady. He has a skin of dazzling 
clearness, with light blue eyes, and pale, amber hair.” 

“ A little dand}^ — ^you won’t like him ; you’ll prefer hia 
brother, Mr. Vandeleur,” laughed Mrs. Brooke. 


102 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


Well now, for niy part, I think both the boys very fine 
young men, especially the little one, he is so affectionate 
and caressing, poor motherless darling ! Either of them 
would be worthy even of your own little Halcyone, Captain. 
And I couldn’t give them higher praise than that — could I 
now, old friend ? As for Halcyone, I tell every body 
candidly that she is my beauty.” 

‘‘ Hal. is a mischievous little monkey who torments my 
life and soul out of me,” grumbled old Storms. 

“ Never mind, Captain, the time is at hand when, in the 
usual course of nature, she will be privileged to torment 
some other man’s life out of him, when probably she will 
leave you in peace,” said Madam Journey. 

“ Umph, umph, umph ! ” grunted old Tom. 

But, whether his grunts meant assent or c?issent, he 
could not himself have told. 

And now please to walk in to breakfast,” smiled Madam 
Journe}’, leading the waj" to the dining-room. 

There, the sight of all his favorite dishes, smoking hot 
ujjon tlie table, speedily consoled Captain Storms for the 
misfortune of being ice-bound at Widowville. 

When breakfast was over. Madam Journey wrote her in- 
vitations and. sent forth her factotum, Euripides, warmly 
clothed, and mounted on a good stout horse, to deliver them. 
Later in the forenoon, old Storms, finding himself alone 
with the principal lady of the house, addressed her in these 
formidable terms : 

“ Madam, you must know how highly I appreciate your 
hospitality; but I cannot bring myself to abuse it by too 
lengtliened a stay, I shall be glad to remain over Satur- 
day, to meet the old friends you have kindly invited here. 
But on Monday, at furthest, I must find my way to my own 
old home. And with your good leave, and his consent, I 
shall take my passenger, Mr. Vandeleiir, along with me.” 

Well, well. Captain, as you please. We will talk about 


W I T C II C R A r T . 


103 


that when Monday comes. ^ Sufficient unta the day,’ 
know,” lauglied Madam Journey, as she hurried away 
upon houseliold business. 

Truly, if Captain Tom had not been encumbered with 
his passenger, or if the latter had borne any other than the 
very objectionable name by which he was called, Madam 
Journej’^ would have taken great pleasure in the company 
of either, or both. Now, though for some reasons she 
really wished them gone, for others she hated to hear them 
talk of going. And this is not an unusual inconsistency of 
feeling. 

Saturdaj^ came and ushered in a great snow-storm. 

When the family circle at Widowville assembled in the 
breakfast parlor, ]\[r. Vandeleur, looking out of the win- 
dows upon the deeply-whitened ground and the fast-falling 
snow, ventured this observation : 

“ Your friends will scarcely get here to-day. Madam.” 

“ W^hy not ? ” curtly inquired the hostess. 

Vandeleur raised his brows with an expression of sur- 
prise and silently waved his hand towards the windows. 

Oil ! 3’ou mean the weather ? Fiddle ! If one of my 
friends were to stay in the house solely' on account of 
weather, when there was any good reason for going out, I 
would cut his acquaintance. Weather, indeed ! If I had 
an errand to a town twenty miles distant to-day, I’d jump 
on my horse and go and do it, weather or no weather ! 
Come, take your seats. Our old-fashioned neighbors, when 
they are invited to dinner, always come early in the morn- 
ing and stay all day. Some of them will be here by the 
time we get through breakfast,” said Madam Journey, as 
she took her place at the head of her table. 

Her words were again verified. While they were still 
lingering over the pleasant meal, there came the merry 
sound of sleigh-bells, softened through the falling snow, and 
the next moment a dashing little equipage, driven by a 


104 


THE FA^IILY HOOM. 


mere cLild; flashed past the windows and drew np before 
the door. 

It is Halcyone ! ” exclaimed Berenice, eagerly rising. 

Yes, it is that little dare-devil, Hal., driving herself, 
as I live ! She’ll break her neck some of these days ! 
Umph ! umph ! umph ! nmph ! I christened her Halcyone 
because I had a sort of notion that it meant brooding peace ^ 
Umph! it ought to have meant brewing storms to have 
suited her ! ” growled old Tom, as he also arose from the 
table and followed the ladies, who had hurried out into the 
hall to receive their guest. 

The front door was opened just as the horses were reined 
np at the base of the terrace, and the young charioteer 
arose in her seat, made one spring from the sleigh to the 
stone steps, and alighted on them like a bird. 

A very brilliant bird she looked, indeed, as she stood 
there a moment trimming her plumage — i. e., pulling down 
her man}’ -colored Scotch plaid dress, settling her sable furs, 
and adjusting her little, jaunty black velvet cap, with it's 
heron plume. She was a little bit of a creature, reminding 
one of a fire-fly, a humming-bird, a paroquet, or, at the 
very biggest, a bird of paradise. She had bright brown 
hair, clustering around a fair, white forehead ; she had 
clear, brilliant dark gray eyes, fringed with curled black 
lashes, and overarched by slender, flexible black brows j 
she had a small, turned-up nose, full, red lips, and a little, 
pointed, protruding chin. Her face was not classic, not 
even regular, and certainly not beautiful in the usual accep- 
tation of that word j but it w'as more than all these — it was 
•rch, mocking, mischievous, and altogether bewitching. 


HALCYONE. 


106 


CHAPTER YIII. 

HALCYONE. 

A dancinp shape, an image gay 

To haunt, to startle and waylay. — Wordsworth. 

A wilful elf, an uncle’s child. 

And half a pet and half a plague. — Anon. 

Halctone stood only a moment, trimming her gay 
plumage, and then she darted half way up the steps and 
into the open arms of old Tom., who ran down to meet her 
and clasped her to his bosom with quite an eftusioii of 
welcome. 

“ So you wicked elf, you have driven those horses again ! 
In a sleigh, too. And you have escaped with your neck, 
once more!” exclaimed old Storms, in a stern voice and 
with a terrible frown. 

“ So you wicked old skipper, you have capsized your 
vessel again. In doubling Henniker’s Point too. And 
you have escaped with your life and the lives of your 
crew ! ” exclaimed Halcyone, in a severe tone and with a 
dark frown. 

Bosh ! What did I tell you about driving those fast 
horses — in a sleigh, too?” 

“Fiddle! What did I tell you about trying to double 
Henniker’s Point — in foul weather, too ? ” . 

“ Tut ! I won’t be put off in this way. I say you must 
not drive those horses again ; they are dangerous.” 

“ And I say you shall not double Henniker’s Point again, 
for it is very dangerous. Wh}’, look here, sir ! as often as 
I have driven these horses, I have never upset my car- 
riage yet. And every time you attempt to double Henni- 
ker’s Point in foul weather you capsize your vessel,” scolded 
Halcyone, shaking all her sunny curls.” 

Whjq you awful little ! How dare you say such 


106 


T HE F A xM I r, Y .DOOM. 


tilings of me, when I never tried to double Henniker'a 
Point in foul w'eather, in all my life, until that night/’ 
exclaimed old Storms, wrathfully. 

“Well, and that very night you capsized your vessel. 
Don’t that prove my words true ? As often as you try to 
double Henniker’s Point in foul weather you capsize your 
vessel. You have never failed to do it. You do it every 
time.” 

“ Oh, you little villain, never mind ; Pll pay you for it. 
But come ; here are the ladies. Are you not going to 
speak to them ? ” inquired the captain, waving his hand 
upwrd towards the front door — which, standing wide open 
revealed the group of ladies within, waiting for their young 
guest. 

She flew up the steps and into the hall, and darted hither 
and thither, shaking hands, kissing, laughing, and chatter- 
ing. 

“Halcjmne, my dear, let me introduce our guest, Mr. 
Vandeleur — Miss McAlpine,” said Madam Journey. 

Yane Vandeleur bowed deeply, with the grave sweet 
courtesy of his nature ; but Halcyone McAlpine held out 
her hand frankly, sajflng : 

“ I am very glad to know you, Mr. Vandeleur. Of course 
I have heard all about the wreck, and so I can sincerely 
congratulate' you on your escape.” 

“ Thanks,” said Vane; “ but I do not think the danger 
was very great. A ducking was our only misfortune, and a 
chance of taking cold our most serious peril.” 

“ Oh yes, I know ; I have doubled Henniker’s Point my- 
self before now, tliough not indeed in foul weather, and I 
know what it is — oh, here you are,” she broke off and ex- 
claimed as Torn joined the group — “here you are, just in 
time to hear me tell Mr. Vandeleur that I will never trust 
you to navigate your vessel alone again. I will go with 
you next time to take care of you and your brig.” 


H A L C Y O N E . 


lOT 


Ml’. Viindeleur, do you ]iear this girl? And do you 
know that her words are no idle boast? She’s a young 
girl, sir, but she’s an old salt. She was brought up on ship- 
board, sir. The ship was her only home from the time she 
was two years old until she was seventeen. The deck was 
her cradle, the sails her curtains, the winds her rockers. 
Why, sir, besides coasting with me all along the bay and its 
tributaries, she has .been four times to the West Indies with 
me and twice to the East. What do you think of that ? ” 

“That the young lady must be a good sailor by this 
time,” replied Vandeleur, with a smile and a bow. 

“A good sailor? I believe you. The brig was her 
nurserj’’ in infancy, and her school-room in girlhood. She 
can navigate the vessel better than anybody on board except 
myself, and old Jack and she can do it as well as we can.” 

“ Come now. Captain Gulliver, that will do. llelate as 
many marvellous adventures as you please, but don’t make 
me the heroine of any of them,” exclaimed Halcyone, 
saucil}^ 

While they talked, they were walking slowly up the hall. 
When they reached the foot of the staircase, Berenice came 
forward and invited Halcyone to go up stairs to lay off her 
wrappings. With a bow and a laugh, the girl left her late 
companions and followed Berenice to a bed-chamber in the 
upper story. 

Meanwhile the other guests began to arrive. 

A great, heavy old family carriage came lumbering slowly 
up to the house ; and from it descended Major Hourie and 
his two nephews. 

Major Hourie was a tall, spare, stately old gentleman, of 
about seventy years. He had fine aquiline features ; bright, 
gentle, dark blue eyes; thin, iron-grey hair, and a gray 
mustache; his air and manners were replete with dignity 
and courtesy. He was dressed with care and taste. He 
^vas — as had been said of him — a gentleman of the old 
school — a gro/ud seigneur of. the ancicnne noblesse. 


108 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


He advanced to greet his hostess with liis usual suav# 
and stately grace. 

Madam Journey, who always received her guests at her 
drawing-room door, welcomed him very cordially. She then 
presented : 

Mr. Vandeleur — Major Hourie.” 

And the two gentlemen bowed simultaneousl}’^ ; and then 
the Major held out his hand, with a smile, saying : 

“ I suppose I ought to condole with you upon your mis- 
fortune in being cast upon our coast here, but really I feel 
more inclined to congratulate myself and friends on the 
acquisition of so agreeable an addition to our social circle.” 

“ That means, * It’s an ill wind that blows nobody good,’ ” 
put in the captain. 

“ Many thanks,” returned Vandeleur ; to me certainly 
the shipwreck, if you will give the accident so grave a 
name, is a subject for unmixed congratulation. I am but 
an idle wanderer around the world, with nothing about me 
very valuable to lose — not even my life ; so, being thrown 
ashore here, I only find ‘ my lines cast in very pleasant 
places.’ ” 

“We will endeavor to make you think so, at least,” 
smiled Major Hourie — “but here are my nephews, and they 
must make your acquaintance,” he added, as the two young 
men, who had lingered behind for a few moments, to give 
some directions to their coachman, now joined him. 

He presented them in due form : 

“Mr. Vandeleur — my nephew, Mr. Blackistone — my 
second nephew, Mr. Fairlie.” 

There was more bowing, but no more shaking of hands— 
that hand-shaking, upon a first introduction, being a relic 
of old-school manners, lingering only with such old-fashioned 
folks as Madam Journey and Major Hourie. 

There was a frankness about the manners of both these 
young men — so dissimilar in every other respect — that 


H A LC YO N E. 


109 


roade them very attractive to our melancholy stranger. 
They entered witli him eagerly into their subjects of rural 
interest — the fox hunting, the waterfowl shooting, the skat- 
ing, now that the creek was closed, and tlie tine sleighing 
tlmre would be now that the frozen ground was so deeply 
covered with snow. 

“ After all that can be said in favor of blooming summer, 
I think I like the winter best— there is so much more 
enjoyment of life,” said young' Blackistone. 

“ Tiiere is better sport. I would like to show you some 
up there at Hourie Hall. And since you give yourself out 
to be an idle traveller around the world, I should be de- 
lighted if you could in charity bestow some of your idleness 
upon us,” added Major Hourie, earnestly, as he turned to 
Vandeleur. 

‘‘ You are too kind. Nothing would give me more pleas- 
ure than to avail myself of your invitation, should a favora- 
ble opportunity occur. But the length of my stay here is 
really very uncertain. I may leave at any hour. I must 
leave within a few days,” bowed Vandeleur. 

And Madam Journey, overhearing these words, felt both 
surprised and relieved. This young stranger with the ill- 
omened name talked of going away almost immediately ; 
therefore he could have no serious tiiought of staying and 
paying his court to the “Princess Ro^’al ” of the house. 
It was nothing to the purpose that she knew he could not 
get away, even if he wished to do so j it was enough that 
he intended it. 

So Madam Journey thought now that she might venture 
to be as kind as she really wished to be. 

“ You ‘ maj^ ’ leave us at any hour, may ^mu, Mr. Van- 
deleur ? You ‘ must ' leave us within a few dajs, must 
you ? Not that you know of, my dear young gentleman ! 
In the first place, the mail-coach from Henniker has stop- 
ped running on account of the bad roads, and in the second 


no 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


I)lace tlie mail boat has stopped running because navigation 
is closed for the winter. So how are you to get 
triumphantly demanded Madam Journey. 

“ I should be only too happy with any sort of fair excuse 
to trespass a little longer on the kindness of such good 
friends ; but I fear that no such excuse will be found for me 
even though steamboats and stage-coaches stop running, 
while the roads are still practicable for horsemen or foot- 
passengers,” replied Vane, pleasantly. 

‘‘Ah, well. You are tired of us, and who can wonder 
that 3mu should weary of three old women and a little 
girl?” inquired the old lady, with a slight shrug of her 
shoulders. 

“ Madam, that is very hard ! He knows not what to 
reply to you,” said Major Hourie, smiling at the dismayed 
countenance of Vandeleur. 

But Vane was not going to permit himself to be van- 
quished in that way. He looked inquiringly from one to 
the other, and then said pleasantly 

“ I beg pardon ! I did not quite understand you, 
madam.” 

“ I said,” repeated the old lady, sharpljq “ that it was 
no wonder you should weary of three old women and a 
little girl.” 

“ But, madam, I have not had the opportunity^ — I have 
seen no such,” 

“ No ? what do you call us then ? ” 

Vandeleur accepted this challenge and answered it 
boldly : 

“ I call you, if you will pardon the liberty, “ three very 
charming gentlewomen and one beautiful maiden.” 

“Tut, tut, tut, Mr. Vandeleur, you are an egregious flat- 
terer,” exclaimed Madam Journey, more offended than 
pleased, though she had really, even if unintentionally 
fished for that fulsome compliment. 


HALCYONE. 


Ill 


“ He a flatterer ! Not a bit of it, madam. He is a 
tnitli-teller ; only he doesn’t tell the truth with half enthu- 
siasm enough ! ” exclaimed Captain Storms, coming to the 
rescue. 

At the same moment the door was opened and two more 
\isitors were announced. 

“The Reberent Father T^onhomme. The lleberent 
Father Francis Carroll,” said Euripides, as with great cere- 
mony he ushered the priests into the drawing-room. 

Father Bonhomme was a short, fat, round little body, 
with a fair, full, rosy face, and gray hair, blue eyes and 
white teeth. He did all the pleasant jobs in the parish — 
officiated at all the weddings, ^christenings, and other festi- 
vals. Besides which it was said that penitents who confess- 
ed to Father Bonhomme had a very easy time of it. For 
all tl'.ese things Father Bonhomme was ver}'- popular in his 
district and very much beloved by his children — and by 
none more so than by the fair women of Henniker. That 
lie heartily returned all this affection it was only necessary 
to look into his happy face to feel assured. 

Father Francis Carroll — or Father Francis, as he was 
usually called — was of another species of the genus homo. 
He was tall and sjiaro even to emaciation, with a fine, thin 
face, to which the broad forehead, wasted cheeks and point- 
ed chin gave an almost triangular shape; he had sunnj'’ 
auburn hair and clear brown eyes, full of thought, feeling 
and fire. Fie did all the hardest work of the altar and the 
faithful. He served the earliest masses at midnight or at 
day-break. He preached the Sunday sermons. He visited 
all the sick and buried all the dead. He went out to those 
duties at all hours of the day or night, and in all weathers. 
He sat longest in the confessional, listening to the peccadil- 
loes of his parishioners — and woe betide the hypocrite, the 
self-deceiver, the prevaricator, the trafficker in Heaven’s 
pardons, tl>at knelt at the confession chair occupied by 


112 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


Father Francis Carroll ; for they would get no mercy there 
He spared no sinner, not even himself — least of all himself. 
Father Fraecis was not popular in his parish, or beloved by 
any of his parishioners; except, perhaps, bj’^ a few romantic 
young ladies, who are always interested iu the melancholy 
and the mysterious ; for it was whispered tliat this austere 
priest. had been driven into the church by some deep sorrow 
or some great remorse, if not by both. Yet austere as 
Father Francis was at all times, he still had a smile and a 
pleasant word of greeting for his friends on such occasions 
as these. 

As they went up the room Madame Journe}’^ came for- 
ward to meet them. She shoojc hands cordially with Father 
Bonhorame ; asking him how he felt, and hoping that he 
was well ; and so she drew him on to the warmest seat by 
the chimney side. 

Father Francis she received with more quietness and 
respect; for the truth was that Madam Journey was a 
little afraid of this severe devotee. 

Slie presented Mr. Vandeleur to both, however; and by 
both the 3’oung stranger was warmly welcomed. 

“You will probablj” be ice-bound here for some time yet. 
If so, you must make us a visit at our little house of St. 
Rosalie, and see how we poor priests live when we are at 
home. We have not a very extensive establishment,; but 
we have always ^a hole in the wall for a prophet’ or a pil- 
grim either,” said Father Bonhomme, heartily. 

“ Many thanks. You are very good. y\li are so kind to 
‘as here, that I reall}" count our capsize as a blessing,” 
answered Vandeleur, smiling. 

“ Most of our so-called calamities are blessings if we 
could view them aright,” said Father Francis. 

Vandeleur bowed in silence. 

But Madam Journey became fidgety — she was afraid the 
priest was going to preach. Now Madam Journey was too 


H A L 0 Y 0 N E . 


113 


systematic to like anything out of its place, and least of all, 
did she like preaching out of the pulpit. She got up and 
poked the fire, and drew the window curtains aside, and 
walked restlessly about the room. Luckily she Avas 
relieved of her uneasiness by the arrival of still two other 
of her expected guests, as the door was again opened and 
old You Rip announced — 

Mr. Dickson Storms and Mr. Harr}' Storms.’’ 

Mr. Dickson Storms was the counterpart of his brother. 
He was as tall and as big, with the same bullet head, bull 
neck, gray beard and red hice, the same broad shoulders, 
deep chest, and massive limbs that distinguished “the 
bold sailor of the seas.” 

Harry Storms as closely resembled his father and his 
uncle as any young man could resemble two old ones* 
Indeed, the family form and features were well kept up in 
the house of Storms. Harry was a tall, stout, finely 
formed young man, with regular features, a fair, fresh com- 
plexion, amber hair, and blue eyes, and a frank and joyous 
look and manner, that won him favor in all circles. 

The new-comers had scarcely time to bow acknowledg- 
ments of their hostess’ warm welcome before the}’- were 
rushed upon by old Tom, who, seizing a hand of each, 
exclaimed : 

“My dear Dick ! mj'- dear Harry ! how glad I am to see 
jmu both ! I say. Madam Journey, why is jmur dinner a 
very democratic, republican, levelling sort of an assemblage? 
You give it up ? Because you have ^Tom, Dick, and Har- 
ry here ! ’ Ha, ha, ha ! ho, ho, ho ! ” roared the old man, 
who was al ways sure of one laugh to his jokes, because he 
provided it himself. 

“ But now tell me, both of you, why did you let that imp 
Hal. McAlpine come flying over the country in that light- 
ning sleigh, with those wild horses, too?” gravely de- 
manded the captain. i 

7 


114 


THE FAMILY DOOM, 


“ Why did we let her ? That’s a good one ! As if any 
one could ever prevent Hal. from doing as she pleases I 
The matter was discussed last night. She wanted that we 
should all come in the sleigh. I told her no ; that we 
would get up the old family carrj'-all and harness a pair 
of strong draught horses to it, to drive her over these 
dreadful roads. And so we should have done if she hadn’t 
given us the slip, and started off in the sleigh before w’e 
were out of bed,” said Mr. Dickson Storms, apologetically. 

Before you were out of bed ! On my word your excuse 
is worse than the original offence !” growled old Tom. 

Come, come, stow all that, and introduce us to your 
young friend there,” said Mr. Dickson; 

‘‘All right. Mr. Yandeleur, this is my brother Dickson, 
and this is mj'’ son Harr3% AVhen we are all together we 
are the veritable ‘ Tom, Dick, and Harry ’ of whom you have 
beard so much mention made. For instance, at a very 
much mixed party you ask, ‘Who was there ? ’ ‘ Oh, Tom, 

Dick, and Harry,’ you are told very contemptuously. 

‘ Who will be allowed to vote under the new free suffrage 
bill ? ’ ‘ Oh, Tom, Dick, and Harry.’ Who has been sent 

to Congress ? ’ ‘ Tom, Dick, and Harry.’ Now, here we 

are, the identical three ! ” 

Thus the old seaman rattled on, while his brother and his 
son were shaking hands with the stranger. 

And after this they walked to the upper end of the room 
to pay their respects to the two priests, who were standing 
at a table there, looking over some prints. 

In a few moments the door opened again, and Mrs. De3> 
ing.. M'la. Brooke, Berenice and Halc^mne entered the room. 
And tliere were more cordial greetings, and more eager talk 
aiul gay laughter before every one got seated and settled. 

The small company was now all assembled, and grouped 
at pleasure abput the comfortable long drawing-room. 
Father Bonhomme attached himself to Madam Journey, 


HAT. C TONE 115 

and their talk was about a new sauce for game, the recipe 
for which the priest promised to send to the old lady. 

Major Hourie devoted himself to the entertainment of 
Mrs. Dering, and their conversation turned upon the lam- 
entable decay of manners and the levelling tendencies of 
the times in general. 

But around Mrs. Brooke’s little work-table quite a group 
was assembled — Captain Storms, Mr. Dickson, Ernest 
Blackistone, and Father Francis. And she held them all in 
lively chat and merry laughter. 

Perched upon the end of the piano, with her toes just 
touching the music stool, sat Haley one, — a too apparent 
illustration of Mrs. Dering’s lecture on the decline of 
manners. But if any friend had hinted to tlie little Mc- 
Alpine that her position was unladjdike, she would have 
answered — that being so little herself, she required a high 
seat, as a baby requires a high chair, to be upon a level 
with other people and to see and be seen at all. 

At any rate, there she sat like a bird on a twig. Stand- 
ing near her were the two nephews of Major Hourie. And 
almost any one might have seen at a glance that these 
young cousins were bitter rivals for the favor of the be- 
witching little Halcyone. 

Ernest Blackistone stood with his elbow resting on the top 
of the piano, and his head bowed upon his hand. His eyes 
were fixed upon the face of Halcyone, and his whole dark 
picturesque countenance was eloquent with the feeling, that 
no thought of time or place had power to prevent him from 
betraying. 

He might gaze in her witching face at will, for Halcyone 
was apparently ignoring his presence, and giving all her 
attention to his cousin, the fair-haired Clarence, who sat at 
her feet, lifting adoring blue eyes to her face, and listening 
to her gay description of her mad sleigh-ride of ten miles 
through the storm, that morning. 


116 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


At a short distance from them, Major Hourie, though 
yielding a polite attention to Mrs. Dering’s harangue, was 
yet casting furtive glances of disturbance and disapprobation 
towards his nephews and the object of their idolatry, for be 
it known that brilliant little Halcyone was not considered 
a desirable match by any of the parents or guardians around, 
who had sons or wards to marry. 

Not that anything was ever said against Halcyone — and 
most certainly not that anything was ever known against 
her. In fact it was not what was kmwn, but what was 
M?zknown of her historj’’, that injured her in the estimation 
of the good people of the neighborhood. 

JSfo one could tell xolio she really ivas. 

She was neither the daughter, niece, nor cousin of old 
Storms. She was of no kin to him whatever. Some six- 
teen years before, she had been picked up from a wreck (the 
only one of all the passengers and crew that was saved) by 
Captain Storms. He was then outward bound to the East 
Indies. He had no choice but to take the child with him. 

Who or what she was, beyond being a very pretty little 
girl-baby, neither he nor any one else knew. Among the 
clothing that she had on when she was picked up, the only 
clue to her identity was the initials — H. McAlpine. The 
H. might have stood for Helen or Harriet, or any other 
name beginning with that letter. 

But because the weather, which had been very tempestu- 
ous before the arrival of the child, fell calm as soon as she 
was received on deck, and continued fair to the end of the 
voyage, old Storms took it into his head to call her Hal- 
cyone. 

He carried her to Calcutta and brought her back, making 
in both trips a voyage of nearly eighteen months in length 
of time. And from that time she had been the companion 
of his voyages, the consolation of all his cares, and the 
delight of his old age. He had taught her to read and to 


H A L C Y ONE. 


117 


write ; and she had taught lierself everything else that was 
required for a fair average education. The neighbors called 
lier fast, only, because more than half her life was passed 
on sjiipboard ; and because, when on shore, she would fish, 
shoot, slaite, break in wild colts, and follow the fox-hounds 
with the best and bravest. So 3^011 see, neither in a per- 
sonal nor social point of view, could this bewitching little 
}Ialc3’’one be esteemed a desirable match for any of the 
3*oung men of the country. 

And thus even the courtly and gracious Major Hourie 
regarded his nephews’ devotion to her with disapprobation 
and anxiety. 

But there was. still another group in this drawing-room 
that deserves attention. Seated apart, at a table strewn 
with fine engravings, was Berenice Brooke. Her dress of rich 
rub3’--colored silk, with its trimmings of fine old point lace, 
well became the beauty of her lustrous, black ringlets, and 
of her dark, rich, bright face. She was bending over a pic- 
ture that she held in her hands. 

And t\vo gentlemen, evidentl3' rival aspirants to her 
favors, were bending over her. 

One was Vane Vandeleur, who stood at her right hand, 
gazing with her on the picture, and murmuring his art- 
criticisms in such love-tuned tones, as made every syllable 
an expression of tenderness and devotion. 

The other was Henry Storms, who stood over her, with 
his muscular arms folded, his great chest heaving, and his 
fair face flushed, with the passion of love and the madness 
of jealous3’’, which he did not venture to reveal, yet could 
not entirelj” repress. 

On this group also, anxious and rebuking glances were 
cast. Old Captain Storms watched his son in wrath and 
trouble Old Tom had even a greater horror of his son's 
iuarr3dng the beautiful and wealth}^ heiress of Henniker, 
than Major Hourie had of his nephews wedding the penni- 
less foundling of the wreck. 


118 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


And Captain Storms would have very gladly broken up 
these groups, only, honest old sailor that he was, he knew 
not how to do it except in the most direct manner, and he 
was quite as incapable of rudeness as he was of finesse. 
So he could onl}" watch his boy and sigh. 

Major Hourie, on the other hand, was an accomplished 
gentleman, diplomatic and self-possessed. So when the 
flirtation between Clarence and.Halcyone had gone on as 
long as he thought safe, he just stooped to the ear of Mrs. 
Dering and inquired ; 

May I ask a fiivor of 3mu, madam ? ” 

Certainlj" — a thousand if you like. 

•“Thanks. That is a wide margin. Will jmu be so kind 
as to ask our 3’oung friend there to give us one of her 
delicious songs ? ” 

Mrs. Dering looked up quickly and caught his eye, and 
caught his meaning, too, and smiled assent as she turned to 
Halc3"one and said : 

“ Miss McAlpine, my love, will 3^11 favor us with one of 
your fine, exhilarating sea songs? We are dull here, and 
the gentlemen very much wish to hear you.’’ 

“ Yes, I’ll do m3’’ best, Mrs. Dering,” said Halc3"one. 
Then turning her back to her fair-haired, boy-lover, she 
wound up her 3’arn of the sleigh-ride by saying : “ And 
after all, though I got here quite safe, my captain there 
must scold me. However, he had just capsized the Carrier 
below here, and didn’t I turn the tables on him for that ; 

Yes, Mrs. Dering, I’m coming now,” added Halcyone 

as she jumped down from her high perch and pulled the 
music stool to its proper place and put it to its proper use. 

Major Hourie’s diplomacy broke up more than one group. 
Ho sooner had Halcyone settled herself in her seat than she 
called to 3mung Storms : 

Come here, Harr3’, and help me to sing ^ Life on the 
Ocean Wave.’ Tlie3' want an inspiring sea song, and that 
is the finest one I know. But you must help me.” 


HALCYONE. 


119 


Young Storms changed color at the thouglit of leaving 
Vane Vandeleur tete-a-tete with Berenice Brooke. Though 
a polite and good-tempered young fellow, he even hesitated 
to obey until Berenice Brooke, who had probably been wea- 
ried with his long attendance, said : 

“Don’t you see that Halcyone is w'aiting for you, Mr. 
Storms ? ” 

With an impatient gesture that he could not entirely 
restrain, he exclaimed : 

“Of course’! must obey you^ Miss Brooke.’’ 

And bowed and left her. 

“ That’s a good boy. I know you didn’t like to leave her 
but I wanted you, you see, so you couldn’t help yourself. 
Bear it like a man ! ” was the mockery with which Hal- 
cyone greeted him when he came to her side. 

At first Master Harry v/as sulky ; but ver^’’ soon the 
spirit of the song came upon him, and he rolled forth its 
ro-using notes with as much delight to himself as to his 
hearers. 

“As a bird sings,” so sang Halcyone. She knew noth- 
ing whatever of the art or science of music. She had taught 
herself as Blind Tom taught himself — by ear alone. She 
had a perfect ear and a delicious voice — a clear, pure, so- 
prano voice — light, fresh, elastic, free, joyous, soaring as a 
lark’s wings in the morning sunlight. 

The old captain, now that the objectionable group was 
broken up, felt at liberty to enjoy the singing of his “ bird,” 
as he often called Halcyone, He was very well satisfied 
that his son should be with her. He would have been quite 
willing to have given them to each other forever. He loved 
his little foundling of the wreck so well that it was hard to 
say whether he loved his only son any better. And he was 
very proud of her musical gifts, too. 

“ Oh, if I could only send her to Italy to be trained ! If 
ahe can do these things so surpassingly well now, what 


120 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


could she not ‘do if slie were educated in the art?^^ he 
sighed, addressing Mrs. Brooke. 

“ She would distinguish herself certainly,” smilingly 
assented the lady. 

^‘Do you know I fancy that the famous Jenny Lind, 
before she was caught and trained, was just such a free, joy- 
ous, untutored song-bird of nature ? And I think if our 
lark could be taught, she too would have a great success,” 
said the captain. 

And then, as if still more anxious to enjoy her delicious 
strains than to compliment them, the old man turned and 
gave his undivided attention to the singer. 

By this time also the company had left all other occupa- 
tions to listen to Halcyone. 

She had an untiring voice. She sang in succession sev- 
eral inspiring songs — sea songs, hunting songs, battle 
songs — all of equally wild, jubilant, exhilarating spirit; 
and Harry seconded her well in all. 

At length she arose from the piano — not in weariness even 
tlien, but rather in bashfulness at having sat there so long. 
And though her delighted audience would willingly have 
persuaded her to continue the rare entertainment, she shook 
all her sunny curls and smiled denial ; and to the discom- 
fiture of Major Hourie, she went and sat down on the sofa 
beside Clarence Fairlie and said ; 

^^Now, Clary, you must tell me about that coon hunt 
by moonlight you were mentioning. And mind, the next 
time you go out you must let me know beforehand, so that 
I may go too.” 

There was an interval filled up with general conversation, 
and then Mrs. Bering, still following up the hint of Major 
Hourie, turned to Miss Brooke and said : 

‘‘ Beriy, my love, can you give our friends some of their 
favorite airs from the opera ? ” 

The young lady bowed in assent and arose and went and 


II ALCYONE. 


121 


seated herself at the piano, closely followed by Vane Van- 
deleur, who stood behind her chair, ready to turn over her 
music. 

. The style of Berenice Brooke’s singing was a perfect 
contrast to that of Hal. McAlpine. The voice of Berenice 
was a full, deep, rich contralto. It was also carefully culti- 
vated. She sang some of the most impassioned songs from 

Norma,” “ Tannhauser,” the Huguenot,” and other 
celebrated operas. If Hal. McAlpine’s inspiring notes had 
aroused her hearers to the highest pitch of exhilaration, 
Berenice Brooke’s impassioned strains thrilled and subdued 
them with profound emotion. There was no applause, no 
word of praise, scarcely a breath was drawn in the room. 

Vane Vandeleur hung over the singer, entranced with 
her, oblivious of every one else. If he had never loved before, 
he loved to madness now. As, at length, when she quietly 
arose from the instrument, he took her hand to lead her to 
a seat, he whispered eagerly, earnestly, vehemently, as if 
the words broke from the fullness of an overcharged heart : 

“ Oh, beautiful ! most beautiful ! I love you ! I love you 
unto death I ” 

Tie felt her hand tremble in his clasp ; he saw her cheek 
flame under his gaze j but the hand was not withdrawn, nor 
the cheek averted. 

They seated themselves at the book table, and seemed to 
be engaged with the volumes and pictures spread before 
them. Whether Vane Vandeleur would have ventured to 
follow up the declaration of love that had burst so impetu- 
ously from his lips, it would be hard to tell, for scarcely were 
the}'" seated when Harry Storms, jealous, wretched and 
defiant, joined them there. 

Meantime, on one of the sofas sat Halcyone talking to 
the two cousins, Ernest Blackistone and Clarence Fairlie. 

Thus, to the great annoj’ance of their elders, the young 
people had resolved themselves into the very same groups 
which they had formed when the music broke them up. 


122 


T II E FAMILY DOOM. 


At length, much to the satisfaction of IVIajor Hourie aiul 
Captain Storms, dinner was announced. 13 ut, although tlje 
objectionable groups were thus broken up, 3’et the parties 
that composed them, paired off together in the mostprovok-- 
ing manner, and so marched to the dining room. 

Eather Bonhomme led the way witli Madam Journey ; 
Major Hourie followed with Mrs. Dering; Ernest Blacdv- 
istone gave his arm to ’Halycone ; and Vane Vandeleur 
brought up the rear with Berenice Brooke. 

Father Francis, Mr. Dickson Storms, Clarence Fairlie, 
and Harry Storms, being left to themselves, came in singly 
and disconsolately, like the disreputable stragglers behind 
a marching army. The}^ took their places at the table 
very much in the order in which they had come in — 
Madam Journe}’^ at the head of the table with Father Bon- 
homme on her right ; each gentleman beside the lady he 
had escorted ; and those who had entered singly, grouped 
near the foot. 

But the luxuriousness of the feast spread before them 
should have consoled the most discontented for any 
unavoidable mortification. There were soups, fish, and 
03^sters ; joints both boiled and roasted ; poultry” and game ; 
vegetables and fruits ; custards and jellies j sweetmeats 
and ices ; nuts and wines. 

And to do them justice, the guests, with one exception, 
fully appreciated the good things set before them. That 
one exception was Father Francis, who, amid the luscious 
variety of the table still confined himself to one dish at 
dinner and one fruit at dessert. 

In amusing contrast to the abstemious priest was hearty 
old Captain Storms, who ate of everything that was set 
before him, praising all the dishes, and finding each in its 
turn better than all the rest. 

Then there was Major Hourie, whose dainty taste only 
selected the most recherche of the dishes. 


HALCYONE. 


123 


But as both gourmand and epicurean lOved to sit late at 
the feast, the dinner was much prolonged. 

At length, however, the ladies withdrew to the drawing- 
room, where the}’’ were soon followed by the gentlemen. 

Lights were brought in, and tea and cotfee served. And 
then it would have been in due order for the company to 
take leave, had not the weather grown worse and worse 
with the approach of night. 

Major Hourie went to the window, and looked out 
anxiously. 

The snow was falling faster than ever, and the wind 
that had arisen with the going down of the sun was now 
blowing furiously and drifting the snow “ mountains high.’* 
The whole face of the country is being changed, if one 
could see it,” said the major to the old seaman, who had 
followed him, and now stood by his side contemplating the 
W'intry scene without. 

“ Yes,” said the latter, ^‘the hills are being levelled and 
the valleys filled up, and all the landmarks obliterated.” 
Travel seems impossible to-night,” sighed the major. 

“ Travel is impossible not only for to-night but for to- 
morrow,” answered the captain. 

It is quite useless your standing staring out of that 
window, gentlemen,” laughed Madam Journey, the 
weather is not going to improve by being watched. And 
it is quite out of the question for you to think of turning 
out in such a terrible storm. Kesign yourselves to circum- 
stances and bear the disappointment with what fortitude 
you can muster.” 

“ I turn from this dark tempestuous view without — which 
is all the more awful for being so dimly seen — and I look 
upon this glowing fire of great oak logs and this bright 
room with its fair occupants, and I feel that I can resign 
myself to circumstances, with the utmost philosophy, and 
bear my fate with the greatest fortitude,” said the major, 
bowing to the old lady. 


124 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


That is a very pretty speech, Major, and you are very 
good-natured to make it/’ 

Tlianks. But wliat I greatly fear is, that we are tres- 
passing most unwarrantably on your kindness.” 

“Now, Major, you know that you are talking the greatest 
nonsense. You know very well that we lonely old wo-men 
are delighted at the storm that detains you here, and gives 
us so much the more of 3mur pleasant company ; and we don’t 
even care at what inconvenience to yourself, so selfish are 
we,” said Madam Journey. 

“ Oh Madam exclaimed the Major, deprecatingly. 

“ I tell you what, ma’am,” put in old Storms, “ this house 
is a perfect man-trap. When a poor fellow once gets in, it 
is next to an impossibility for him ever to get out. Bor 
not only has he the- strong attractions of its charming 
inmates to bind and to hold him, but the very weather it- 
self shuts him in.” 

“ Poor old gentleman ! What a hard time you have T 
But come, we will try to console you. We will try a game 
of whist. I know you like that old-fashioned pastime. You 
and I will play against Major Hourie and my daughter, 
and we will beat them out of their senses,” said the old lady 
touching the bell. 

You Bip answered the call. 

“ Set out the whist-table, and bring the cards,” said his 
mistress. 

The old man obeyed, and then went to the windows to 
close the shutters. 

“Let them alone,” said Madam Journey. “You know 
very well that I never have the shutters closed until bed- 
time. What do you mean ? ” 

“The night is so bad, ma’am, one of the worstest nights 
I ever knowed in all my life,” expostulated the man. 

“ Why, that is the greater cause for the shutters being 
left open. Suppose some poor soul should be out in this 


HALCYON E. 


125 


storm. How would he ever he able to find his way to the 
house unless he could see the light? I’m astonished at 
your dulness, Yon Eip,” snapped Madam Journey. 

“ You see, sir, she don’t never take a consideration, on to 
it, as the more stragglers is druv in here by the storm the 
more fires I shall have to kindle up stairs, and the more wet 
clothes to change and dry,” whispered You Eip, confiden- 
tially, to his old friend. Captain Storms, as he passed him 
on his wa}’’ from the window. 

“ Grandmamma always has the windows left open until 
bedtime. She says the lighted windows cheer the lonely 
passengers on the road at night in all weathers, and in 
storms they serve to guide them to a shelter,” said Berenice 
to Vane, who was still’ in attendance upon her. 

I have observed that she does so. I think it very 
thoughtful and kind of her,” answered Mr. Vandeleur. 

“Oh, but she makes no merit of it,” laughed Berenice — 
“ it costs nothing. Indeed, I often wonder so wise and 
cheap a benefaction is not oftener done.” 

“ Why, yes. What a festive appearance it would give, 
even to the street^ of a city, if the window shutters were 
left open at night, so that the light of happy homes could 
shine out upon the wayfarer. Indeed, I think it would 
have a fine moral effect,” said Vandeleur. Then lowering 
his voice he added, “If ever I should be so happy as to 
have a home of my own ” 

“ Mr. Vandeleur, excuse Berenice, if you please. Bere- 
nice, my love, here is Father Bonhomme would like a game 
of chess with you ! ” exclaimed Madam Journey, breaking 
ruthlessly into the tete-a-tete. 

There was no remedy for Vane’s anno^’ance. The will 
of the lady and the priest was omnipotent. With a smile 
and a bow to lier companion. Miss Brooke arose and went 
to the little stand where Father Bonhomme had already 
seated himself before the chess board. 


126 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


Madam Journey had her whist party made up as she had 
planned it — she and Captain Storms playing against Mrs.J 
Dering and Major Hourie. 

Then Mrs. Brooke called all the other members of the 
company together for a round game of forfeits. And thus, 
notwithstanding the inclemency of the weather, they amused 
themselves until Euripides made his appearance with the 
bedroom candles. 


CHAPTER IX. 

J'ATE. 

On what strange grounds wo build our hopes and fears; 

Man’s life is all a mist, and in the dark 

Our fortunes meet us. — Dryden. 

The guests assembled at Widowville were snow bound 
there for several days. 

On the morning after the dinner party, Captain Storms 
and Vandeleur were the first to enter the parlor. 

‘‘ Come here now and look out. Would 5^ou really know 
this landscape for the same j^ou saw two days ago? Here 
is the creek frozen over and covered thicklj^ with snow, so 
that it looks not at all like a w'ater course but like a valley 
between its shores I And see my unlucky brig, still on its 
side, with its masts pointing to the land, and so disguised 
with the snow that is drifted over it that it looks more like 
a shapeless hill than a ship ! ” grumbled old Tom, as he 
stood at the window, looking forth upon the wild wintry 
scene. 

^^No stranger seeing this now for the first time wou'd 
imagine that we were so near the sea-coast. All frozen aijd 
hidden under snow as the water is, this looks like an inland 
country,” said Vane Vandeleur, as he joined his friend. 


FATE. 


127 


" Good morning, gentlemen,” smiled Major Hourie as he 
glided into the room. “ The snow storm is over, is it not ?” 

Well, it has stopped snowing, and it look's as if it were 
going to clear up ; but the wind is still blowing furiously 
and driving the snow about at a fearful rate,” answered the 
old sailor. 

“ You see, marster, it hab stopped snowing down’ards and 
begun snowing up’ards ; and that is the worst sort of a snow 
storm,” explained Euripides, who had just entered the room 
with an armful of logs, to replenish the fire. 

Before any one could reply to this sapient observation, the 
two priests with Mr. Dickson Storms entered the parlor, 
and the usual morning greetings were exchanged. 

There is our haven of rest, but when will we ever 
reach it? ” sighed Father Bonhomme, pointing to th-e dis- 
tant steeple of a church, where it arose from the midst of a 
cedar grove on the opposite side of the creek. 

• “ That is St. Bosalie ? ” enquired Mr. Vandeleur. 

“ Yes, that is St. Bosalie Church, and home, where we 
will hope to see you, when the state of the weather will per- 
mit,” replied Father Bonhomme. 

The entrance of the ladies arrested the conversation. 

And now where are our young sluggards?” enquired 
Madam Journey, as soon as she had exchanged ‘‘good 
morning” with her guests. “Where are those young 
men ? Thej' all know my breakfast hour as well as I know 
it myself. And here are all their elders assembled and 
waiting for tlieir breakfast while they are ” 

“ Coming as fast as ever the}^ can,” laughed Harry 
Storms as he came in followed by Ernest Blackistone and 
Clarence Fairlie. “You know, Mrs. Jernyngham, that 
you put us away up at the top of the house, quite under the 
skylights, and it ” 

“Well, your quarters were quite good, enough for young 
unmarried men, Harry ! ” interru[)ted the captain. 


128 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


Of course, and it is just wliat we expect in all houses; 
hut don’t you see that it took us so much longer to get 
down here, and that is the reason we are late.” 

“ You are not late, my young friend. If j’ou had been 
you would not have found us here. We should all have 
been at table, for we never wait. You have just saved 
yourself by being in time, so now we will go to breakfast,” 
said Madam Journey, gayly, leading the way. 

It was a long and well-filled table, so that the hostess 
might have imagined herself the mistress of a crowded 
boarding-house. And in truth. Madam Journey never felt 
herself so much in her element as when she sat at the head 
of her table dispensing its hospitalities to a crowd of 
guests. 

It was the Sabbath, and the day was passed very quietly, 
in reading, in conversation, and in the singing and playing 
of sacred music. Madam Journey’s only care was to keep 
apart the young lady and gentleman whom she considered 
as too strongly attracted towards each other. 

The sky cleared at about noon, and the wind went down 
with the sun ; and a calm, still, intensely cold night fol- 
lowed. 

Madam Journey ordered roaring fires in every bedroom, 
even in the garret chamber occupied bj’’ those neglected 
victims, the three ‘‘unmarried young men.” And before 
dismissing them to their rest, she gave each of her guests a 
comfortable nightcap in the form of lemon punch as hot as 
boiling water could make it, so that even the priests thought 
it rather nice to be weather-bound at Widowville. 

On Monday morning the day was clear, briglit, still, and 
sharp. The snow was frozen hard in drifts, so that there 
were hills and dells where they had never been seen before. 

* The forest trees were sheathed in ice and bore icicles iiistead 
of leaves. And the whole landscape was transfigured to a 
fairy land of crystal, flashing in the rays of a splendid 
morning sun. 


fate. 


129 


We are crowding these ladies out of house and home. 
We must get some of the j^oung men away to-day at any 
rate/’ said Major Hourie, as he met Captain Storms alone 
in the parlor that morning. 

‘‘Well, I am going home to-day, and I am going to take 
my gentleman passenger along with me. I shall use the 
sleigh, which will skim very well over the frozen surface 
of this snow, drifted or not. ' I shall only require the sleigh 
for a few hours, and you shall be welcome to the use of 
it for the rest of the da3^ And what is more, you may 
choose your own time. You may take the sleigh this morn- 
ing and send it back to me for the afternoon, or jmii may 
let me go home first and then dispatch it to said 

Captain Storms eordiall3^ 

“No; it must be you please. ‘Beggars may not be 
choosers,’ ” smiled Major Hourie. 

After a little more of this friendly dispute, Captain 
Storms said : 

“ Well, I will see what ni}’’ passenger has to say about it. 
Vandeleur ought to have a voice in the matter. And as 
there is no time to lose, I will go and find him now.” 

“ There he is, out in front of the house,” observed Major 
Hourie. 

Captain Storms took his hat and walked out upon the 
terrace ; where he found Vane wrapped in his shawl and 
pacing thoughtfullN’' to and fro. 

“Vandeleur,” said the captain, joining him and speak- 
ing abruptl}’’, “ We have trespassed on the hospitality of 
these ladies quite long enough. So I am going home to-da}*- 
and, of course, you are going with me as you promised. 
But what I wish to know is whether you would prefer to go 
this morning or to wait until the afternoon. It does not 
make the slightest difference to me, so that I reach home 
some time to-day. So it is^for you to decide.” 

While the old man sj^oke, the younger one was gazing 

8 


130 


THE FAMILY DOOM.- 


at him with his large dark eyes full of surprise and even 
of consternation. 

‘‘So soon — I had no idea you were going so soon I’’ he 
exclaimed in dismay. 

“ So soon ? — why, we have been here long enough to have 
wmrn out our, Avelcome, had it been any other place but 
‘Widowville. Yes, my friend, we go to-day. But the hour 
of departure rests with yourself,” insisted old Tom. 

“ Then, if w'e imist leave Henniker to-day, let it be at as 
late an hour as is practicable.” 

“Tlien that wull be about three o’clock in the afternoon ; 
for it will take us from that hour until night to reach home. 
Will that suit your book ?” 

“ It must, I suppose,” answered Vane, resignedly, “ but 
I must — I really must have an interview with Mrs. Brooke 
before that,” he added, earnestly though almost inaudibly. 

“ Ah-ha ! ” said the captain, archly, “ does the wind set 
in that direction ? But it will be of no use. What did I 
tell you, my young friend ? But come in. I see, through 
the windows, that they are all dowm and ready for break- 
fast.” 

They entered the house in time to escape Madam 
Journej^’s rebuke. 

Immediately after the morning meal w'as over, as they 
'were all leaving the breakfast room. Vane Vandeleur passed 
up to the side of Mrs. Brooke, and said in a low voice : 

“I would like very much to see you alone for a few 
moments.” 

Bosamond Brooke looked up at him in surprise, not less 
at the w'ords than at the air of ill-repressed emotion with 
which they were spoken. 

“Certainly,” she said; “will you walk into the drawing- 
room ? There is a fire there, but no one enters it at this 
hour of the morning, and so we.sliall be uninterrupted.” 

And then she led tlie way into the drawing-room, closed 


FATE* 131 

the door, sat down near the fire, and invited him to he 
seated. 

He placed himself as near her as delicacy and courtesy 
would permit, but so great was his agitation that, had he 
been some years older, or she younger, Kosamond Brooke 
might have been led to believe that he was about to make a 
declaration of love for herself. 

Madam,’* he began, as the color flashed and faded over 
his pale, dark face, ‘*yoii heard Captain Storms announce 
his intention of departing this afternoon ?” 

I heard him say he was going away — yes.” 

And I go with liim.” 

You do ? You leave us so suddenly ? I am very sorry. 
Why should yoic go ? Captain Storms must go home, of 
course, to look after liis affairs ; but surely you need not 
hurry from us ? ” said Mrs. Brooke, kindl3\ 

Well,” smiled Vane, encouraged bj’-the sweetness of her 
manner, ^^the old gentleman, remembering that I was his 
passenger and that he has not yet been able to take me into 
the port for which I embarked, seems to consider me, in the 
interim, as his property or, at the very least, his protege ; 
and I am bound by a pledge to go with him. And even if 
this were not so. Madam,” added Vane gravely, “ I should 
still feel it to be my dutj:, with however much pain, to tear 
myself away.” 

“ I am sorr}’- it is so. But that is not what you followed 
me here to tell me,” said Mrs. Brooke, smiling encourag- 
ingly. 

“Ho, no,” said Vane, in an agitated tone, while again his 
color went and came ; “ but, before leaving you ” 

At this moment Captain Storms noisily opened the door 
as if about to enter ; but seeing Mr. Vandeleiir and Mrs, 
Brooke tete-a-t^e, exclaimed : 

“ Oh ! ” 

And retreated as noisily as he had advanced. 


132 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


You see that we have no private room on this floor,” 
smiled Mrs. Brooke. “ Xever mind. We are not conspir- 
ing, so it does not matter. Go on. l(!ou were saying 

“ I was about to say, Madam, that I cannot leave you 
without 

Well, without what?” inquired Mrs. Brooke, smiling 
encouragingly, after she had vainly waited some minutes for 
the agitated young man to finish his sentence. 

Standing a little behind her chair, with his hand upon its 
top, he poured forth .the story of his love ; his tongue once 
being loosened, he spoke with all the earnestness and impet- 
uosity of his soul. 

I could not leave jmu, Madam,” he said, without tell- 
ing you how deeply, how devotedly I love your beautiful 
daughter. Yes ! I see that you are surprised and dis- 
pleased. I feel that it is natural you should be both aston- 
ished and indignant, not indeed at my loving her whom all 
must love ; but at my presumption in making this .declara- 
tion. I know that it must seem to 3’^ou impertinent, un- 
grateful and even treacherous, that I, apparently a mere 
waif of the world, wrecked upon your coast and kindly re- 
ceived and cared for in jmur house, should so far forget my- 
self and all I owe you, as to aspire to the hand of your fair 
and only daughter. But, Madam, I hope soon to convince 
3'ou that in character, position and this world’s wealth, I am 
not quite unworthy of the boon I crave. I have written to 
New Orleans for my credentials. I shall remain in this 
neighborhood until they arrive, and then lay them before 
you ; when I hope ^mu will bless me with your sanction of 

my suit. And in the meantime I beseech you ” 

“ Stop a moment,” exclaimed Mrs. Brooke, who had been 
utterlj'' bewildered by the suddenness and vehemence of this 
declaration. Let me get mj^ breath, if you please. Now 
tell me, have you said anything to Berenice about this ? ” 

Madam, I have,” answered Vane, in a low voice. 


FATE. 133 

^^Tliat was very wrong, Mr. Vandeleurl” exclaimed 
Mrs. Brooke, in a tone of displeasure. 

Vane bowed deepl3\ 

I know it. Madam, and I crave j^our forgiveness ; but I 
did no deliberate wrong at worst. I liad not intended to 
express my feelings to Miss Brooke until. I should have 
first gained your permission to do so. I had not even pur- 
posed to ask that permission until I could have laid before 
you such credentials as should have satisfied even your 
very justifiable doubts. I wrote for these credentials and 
waited for them. I should have still waited to receive 
them before speaking on this subject, eitlier to you or to 
your lovel}^ daughter, had I not — ” He paused for a 
moment, and then in a very low voice resumed — had I 
not in an hour of madness been surprised into uttering 
words to Miss Brooke that cannot now be recalled. I hope 
I liave not sinned be^mnd the possibility of pardon.’^ 

Will you be good enough to tell me how Berenice re- 
ceived those very impulsive and most indiscreet words ? ” 

Without displeasure, I trust.’’ 

Ah ! that meant with favor. Well, I must sa^’’ I think 
3mu a veiy strange jmung man, Mr. Vandeleur. Here you 
come, nobodj^ knows from what quarter of the world — 
wrecked upon our coast in a gale of wind, and weather- 
bound in our house for only a few brief daj^s, as I may say, 
and in that short time you find opportunity to court iny 
daughter. I should like to know what you think of your- 
self!” exclaimed Mrs. Brooke, turning her head around to 
look at him, where he leaned over the back of her chair 
Her action was unwise. She saw his pale, handsome, pic- 
turesque face, full of emotion, full of passion, bent eagerly, 
anxiously forward. She met the gaze of his large, dark, sad 
eyes, fixed pleadingly on hers ; she heard his low, depre- 
cating tones reply: 

That I may have been too precipitate. Madam ; but I 
hope to convince .you that I have not been presumptuous.” 


134 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


Tlie face, the eye, the voice were all too much for Kosa- 
mond Brooke’s firmness. She had a soft heart — her grand- 
mother used to add — a soft head also. She veiled the flasli- 
ing of her eyes and turned away her angry countenance as 
she said : 

We all here like you very much, 'personally^ Mr. Vande- 
leur, but of course there are many reasons why I cannot 
entertain your suit to my daughter. In the first place, as 
you yourself justly hinted, we know nothing at all about you, 

except that j'ou are a very agreeable man ” 

Vane bowed in acknowledgment of this compliment, and 
then added: 

“ But, Madam, in a few days you shall know all about 


Mrs. Brooke waived her hand deprecatingly and con- 
tinued : 

— In the second place, my daughter is too young to b© 

asked to think of marriage ” 

“ But, madam, pardon me ! You ” 

“ Oh, yes ; I know what you would say — that her mother 
and grandmother must all have been married at even an 
earlier age than hers, now. That is quite true. But we 
have all determined to mend that error in the case of Ber- 
enice.” 

Well, but, my dear lady, I do not urge an immediate 
marriage, however much I may wish it. If I am only per- 
mitted ” . 

Tut — tut, Mr. Vandeleur, your acquaintance with 
Berenice has been too brief, much too brief, for the enter- 
tainment of any such purpose as you mention. We like 
you very much ; we do indeed ; but 1 must request that you 
will never mention this subject again, either to me or to my 
daughter,” said Mrs. Brooke, most emphatically. 

I\ardon me again, but as I had the honor to tell ym, I 
have spoken the words to Miss Brooke that cannot be re- 


FATE. 


135 


called ; that must indeed be followed up, in so far at least as 
to acquaint her with the issue of this interview, and with 
the line of conduct that I shall pursue,” urged Vane, courte- 
ously, but firmly. ‘ 

You ma}’’ excuse 5-ourself from making any communi- 
cation of the sort to Berenice, as I shall myself have an 
explanation with her. And as for ‘the line of conduct^ 
which jmu have resolved to pursue, I can only hope and 
trust it will be that of a man of honor. 

“It will, Madam. In proof of which I am quite wil- 
ling to explain it to jmu. I simply wish, in telling Miss 
Brooke the issue of this interview, to assure her that I 
shall consider myself bound to her, until she herself shall 
dismiss me ; that I shall wait — impatiently indeed, but 
very faithfully — any number of weeks, months,. 3'ears, for 
your sanction to our marriage, which I shall do ray best to 
deserve ; or, for the coming of her majorit}’-, when she shall 
be free to choose for herself. Thus much I must say to 
Miss Brooke, Madam, for the redemption of my own word 
and honor.” 

“ Well, upon mj'- soul, you have as much ‘ modest assur- 
ance ’ as any young gentleman I ever met with in my 
life ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Brooke, her fair time flushing all 
over with anger. “I tell you plainly that I disapprove of 
your pretensions to my daughter’s hand, and you tell me as 
plainly that you mean to persevere in them. You are a 
very presumptuous young man ! ” 

“ Pray do not put so severe a construction upon my 
words. Madam, or be angry with me without a cause. Con- 
sider. I am devotedly attached to this young lady. I 
bear, if you will permit me to prove it to you, an unblem- 
ished reputation among my fellow-men; while my social 
position and my fortune make me not unfit to aspire to Miss 
Brooke’s alliance. I regret to seem so much of an egotist, 
but it is necessary to tell you these facts. I repeat, that 


136 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


however anxious I may be for this happiness, I am willing 
to submit to any probation ; but with the understanding 
that I shall still cherish the hope of winning at the last, 
your approbation of m}’- suit.’^ 

I can say nothing to encourage such a vain hope, Mr. 
Vandeleur. I am truly sorry that you should ever have 
entertained it. I can only earnestly advise jmu to forget it, 
as I hope that I3erenice will,” said Mrs. Brooke, rising, 
as if to put an end to the conversation. 

But hear me yet. You were so kind as to say that I 
am not personally displeasing to you. If I prove that my 
circumstances are what I have represented them to be, will 
you then give a more favorable consideration to my suit ? ” 
urged the lover. 

‘^Mr. Vandeleur, I think I answered that question some 
moments ago. I now repeat that under no circumstances, 
can I at this time entertain any proposal for my daughter’s 
hand.” 

Pardon me if T press another question. Will you at 
any future time entertain any such proposal from any quar- 
ter?” 

“ That depends. I cannot now say. Who can speak for 
the future ? ” 

“ Then you have not devoted your daughter to a life of 
celibacy ? ” 

Assuredly not. Why should I ? I presume that Ber- 
enice will follow the laws of life, and marry when the 
proper time and person come.” 

“ One boon then. One ; and the last that I shall ask.” 

What is it ? ” 

“ Permit me to see your lovely daughter once more only, 
to acquaint her with the issue of this interview,” entreated 
the lover, taking the lady’s hand, and raising his eyes im- 
ploringly to her face. 

Mrs. Brooke was about to refuse, but those beseeching 


FATE. 137 

eyes lield hers with a miglity power ; she could not resist 
their prayer j so she answered : 

On one condition I grant your wish — that you will 
pledge me your word and honor not to seek to bind Bere- 
nice to any engagement, but to leave her as free as you 
her.’^ 

I pledge you my sacred word and honor that I will 
obey your commands in this respect. And I tliank j’-ou 
deeply, Madam, even for this grace, said Vane as he raised 
the lad3"’s hand and pressed it to his lips. 

And then they left the room together. 

Mrs. Brooke not only kept her word in granting Vano 
permission to see her daughter once more j but in facilita- 
ting the meeting. 

In a house so full of company" it was not easy for him to 
gain an interview with his lady-love without her mother’s 
assistance. 

Mrs. Brooke managed matters so well that soon after the 
departure of Major Hourie and his nephews for Hourie 
Hall, Vane found himself in the ladies’ sitting-room alone 
with Berenice. He approached her where she sat sewing 
at her little work-table, and leaning over her chair, he whis- 
pered : 

My dearest, I have been with your mother this morn- 
ing.” 

Berenice started, dropped her work, and looked up — her 
bosom rising and falling, her face flushing and paling, her 
lips apart, her eyes at first eagerly questioning, and then 
dropped. But she spoke no word, and her lover continued^j 

Your dear mother deems her daughter’s hand too rich a 
prize to be sought and won by an unknown adventurer, as 
she holds me to be. She has forbidden me to think of you ; 
as if I evermore could think of an^^thing else, or cease to 
think of 3^ou. She has forbidden me to hope for you, as if 
such hope were not the elixir of my life ! ” 


138 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


As lie spoke, gazing passionately on her face, he saw her 
cheeks grow deadly white, and her form sway, as if she wero 
about to swoon ; in the instant that he observed this, and 
before lie could spring to support her, she rallied, recovered 
herself, and murmured: 

Is this the end ? Must we part so ? ’’ 

“ No ! ” he earnestly replied — “ never ! My own only 
love, I cannot ask jmu to pledge your hand to me ; for I 
have given my word to your mother that I will not do so 
without her sanction ; but I will, and I do, solemnly pledge 
myself to you. I will be faithful to you forever. I will 
never resign jmu, but at your own bidding. I w'ill wait for 
you any length of time, and I will use every means in my 
power to retain your affection and to gain your mother’s 
approbation.” 

But — you will go awa}’’ from this neighborhood. You 
will either continue your travels, or you will return to your 
distant home, and — I shall see ^-ou no more ! ” 

“ No, my beloved — no ! it shall not be so I I will remain 
in this neighborhood, wliere, even if I should be forbidden 
to visit your dear self, I maj’’ at least have the chance of fre- 
quently meeting jmu in public or hearing of you in society. 
I will, if necessary'’, bu}’- a home here and settle down near 
jmu to wait for the blessed time when I may be permitted 
to bear you off to my own fair Southern halls.” 

‘^You will not go away! Oh, jmu have made me so 
happy by these words ! Heaven bless you, dear Vane ^ 
Heaven bless you abundantly for your goodness to me ! 
You will stay near me I Oh, I am so glad 1 Here is my 
hand: I also promise to be faithful to you, and to wait 
with you any length of time, and to use every means in my 
power to merit your constancy and to gain my mother’s 
consent!” exclaimed Berenice, with animation. 

A thousand blessings on you for this sweet pledge, my 
love j but yet I must not bind 3 mu by it. You must be 


FATE. 


139 


entirely free from any engagement ; such is your mother’s 
will, and such was my promise to her. But love — I am 
your willing bondsman forever.” 

You will not accept my pledge ? Then I will myself 
Izeep it for you, and hold it sacred until you ask me for it,” 
smiled Berenice through her tears. 

— “ And that will be, as I frankly told your dear mother, 
when you are of an age legallj'- to dispose of your hand. 
Then I will ask jmu for it. In the meantime, you must be 
so free that even then you may feel at liberty to refuse mo 
if you shall so please to do.” 

As if I could ever change to you ! We do not change 
so, we women of Henniker. We love once and forever. 
Look at my foremothers. They were, each in her turn, 
widowed in early youth, and they were each very beautiful 
and very much sought after, yet neither of them ever loved 
or married again. Ho, Vane, I shall never change to you ; 
and I have faith enough in you to feel that you will never 
change to me either.” 

Heaven truly knows that I never will I ” fervently 
ejaculated Vandeleur. 

“ And now let us finish this lest we wear out the patience 
of my dear mother. I will never disobey her by marrying 
against her consent, nor will she grieve me by withholding 
it, when time and sight has taught her your worth, as faith 
and love has taught it me,” she said, once more holding out 
her hand. 

He caught it eagerly, carried it to his lips and kissed it 
passionately many times. 

And then they went out of the room. 

There was no other tete-d-tete in the house that day; 
there was too much company, and too much walking up 
and down and going to and fro.” 

The family and guests dined early, that old Captain 
Storms might feast once more to his heart’s content beforo 
leaving AV’'idowvillo. 


140 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


In all former feasts Madam Journey had excelled every- 
body else ; in this one she excelled herself. “ It was her 
mightiest and her last^’ — at least of this series of enter- 
tainments. 

At three o’clock punctually the sleigh came hack from 
Hourie Hall, and Captain Storms, with his whole party, 
took leave of the ladies of Henniker. 

Madam Journey astonished Vane Vandeleur by saying 
as she shook hands with him : 

“ Come again, come soon, and come often.^^ 

Of course she did not want the objectionable young man 
to come back at all ; but she could not help saying this, and 
for the moment she really meant it. 

As for Vane and Berenice, they were both delighted. 


CHAPTER X. 

MYSTERY. 

She loves, yethnows not wh'^m she loves, 

Nor what his race, nor whence he came; 

Like one w'ho meets in Indian groves, 

Some beauteous bird, without a name, 

Brought by the last ambrosial breeze. 

From isles in the undiscovered seas. 

To show his plumage for a day 

To wondering eyes, and wing away. — Mooes. 

Mother, I do wish you hadn’t invited that very unde- 
sirable young man to come again,” said Mrs. Bering, 
impatiently and even disrespectfully turning upon the old 
lady, as soon as her guests were gone. 

'‘Lor’! I couldn’t help it, Hortensia I I couldn’t, indeed! 
I don’t want him here any more than you do, goodness 
knows I don’t ! But I was obliged to ask our old friends to 
come again, and how could I ask them and then make a 
bridge of his nose by not asking him, poor fellow ! 
pleaded Madam Journey. 


M Y S T E R Y . 141 

Yes, "but you not only asked him to come again, hut to 
come soon and to come often^^ 

“Well, I couldn’t help it, Hortensia! I couldn’t, indeed I 
Poor young man ! He looked so down-hearted ! And well 
he might! A stranger in a strange land! I hadn’t the 
heart to pass him over, that I hadn’t ! no, nor to give him 
merely a formal, polite invitation, which means nothing 
either ! I had to give him a warm one, and I meant it 
too!” 

“ But don’t you see, mother, that the fellow is after Bere- 

“ To he sure I see it, and worried enough I am about it 
too ! And that is the reason why, though I did press him 
to come again, I hope and trust he won’t do it ! ” said this 
very contradictory and inconsistent old lady. 

“ It is a very great pity you can’t restrain your sympa- 
thies, mother f For you must know that he is not only after 
Berry, but that she is pleased, very much pleased, with 
him.” 

“ Certainly, I know that ! and that is the very worst of 
it ! and that is the greatest reason why I do long and pray 
for him to take himself off from this neighborhood! For 
no matter how much he might run- after her, if she didn’t 
care for him, I shouldn’t mind it. Ihit it is^ under present 
circumstances, verj’^ disagreeable to have him coming here.” 

“ And yet you pressed him to come ! ” 

“ That was because I couldn’t help it ! I couldn’t hurt 
his feelings at any price ! But don’t be alarmed, Horty I 
Ic is quite out of the question for Berry to have him.” 

“ Of course it is, a perfect stranger ! a mere adventurer 
most likel}’’ ! ” 

“ If he was a prince of the blood, and a model of wisdom 
and goodness it would he all the same ! Berry couldn’t 
accept him,” said the old lady very curtly. 

“ Oh, I don’t seo' that, either ! If this stranger should 


142 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


possess rank, riclies, and honor, he might pretend even to 
Berry’s hand, might he not ? ” She must marry some time, 
must she not ? ” demanded Mrs. Bering. 

The old lady was silent. She felt that she had already 
been betrayed into saying more than she had intended upon 
that subject. 

The girl must marry sometime, must she not ! ” repeat- 
ed Mrs. Bering. 

Berry is much too young to think of such things ! ” 
answered Madam Journey, and- then she immediately 
changed the subject by sa3nng: 

Those two boys of Major Hourie’s are sadly smitten 
■with Halc^'one ! especially the elder, Ernest Blackistone ! 
but she seems to favor the little one — Clarence Eairlie — 
Eairy, as I call him ? what a prettj' little fellow it is, to bo 
sure.” 

“ Major Hourie is very much annoyed by the admiration 
his 3'oung nephews betray’ for that girl,” said Mrs. Bering 
coldly. 

‘ That girl ? ’ What makes you calT Halcyone ‘ that 
girl ?’ And why should Major Hourie feel annoyed at his 
boys liking her ? My goodness ! I reckon she is good 
enough for either of them ! ” exclaimed the old lady resent- 
fullj^, for she was very fond of Captain Storms’ pet. 

“ A foundling, mother ? a girl not only without mono^-, 
but without even a name, good enough for an heir of 
Hourie Hall ! ” 

Well, and whjr not ? If she has got no money but what 
the captain may give her, neither have they much mono}’ 
but what the Major will give them. And as for a name, 
what is that to a girl ? If it was the oldest and best name 
in the world she would have to part with it when she mar- 
ried.” Humph ! indeed ! if / were the captain, I would not 
give my pet to either of these young men ! The Brigand 
is a beast and the Fairy is a fool, to my thinking ! ’ said 


M YST EU Y. 


143 


the old lady speaking much more uncharitably than she 
ever felt. 

“ It seems to me that you are very unjust to these young 
gentlemen,” observed Mrs. Dering. 

“ It is you who are unjust to Halcyone,” snapped Madam 
Journey. 

Well, mother, I am really not enough interested in the 
subject to dispute with you about it,^-’ said Mrs. Dering, 
passing out of the housekeeping room where this conver- 
sation had occurred, and leaving Madam Journey to her 
congenial task of stoning raisins for a plumb cake. 

Meanwhile Dosamond Brooke had gone up stairs to her 
own chamber, where to her surprise and dismay she found 
Berenice sitting pale and sad. 

^^Why, Berry, my love,” she said approaching her, 
** Berry ! what is the matter ? ” 

^‘Mother, I came up here to wait for you,” the girl began, 
and then paused. 

‘‘You wanted to say something to me?” 

“ Yes. Oh, mother ! mother ! 3mu have made me miser- 
able ! miserable ! ” she cried, clasping and straining her 
hands together. 

“ I ! — Berenice, how wildly you talk ! I made you miser- 
able !” exclaimed the lady, surprised and displeased. 

“ Yes, mother, yes ! You made Mr. Vandeleur promise 
” she began and stopped again. 

“ Well, I made the young man promise not to bind you 
by an engagement. That was all.” 

“ You made him promise not to bind me by any engage- 
ment, and that you say was all. But oh, mother! mother! 
how much was in that all ! ” cried Berenice. Then with a 
sudden impulse she started up, and threw herself into her 
mother’s arms, buried her face in her mother’s bosom and 
•whispered passionatel}' — “I love him, mamma! I love 
bim ! I love him ! and cannot live without him ! ” 


144 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


Mrs. Broolce shrank from the vehemence of her daughter. 
She was really shocked. After a few moments of silence 
from sheer consternation she exclaimed : 

Berenice ! I cannot tell you how much surprised and 
pained I am that you should make such a confession to 
me ! ” 

Oh, mamma! to whom on earth should I make it but 
to you 1 who would sympathize with me so much ? 

A young man you have known for so short a time 1 ” 

“ I feel as if I had known him all my life ! Even as if 
I had known him intimately in some previous state of ex- 
istence — so familiar and homogeneous did he seem to me 
from the very first.” 

Stuff and nonsense, Berry ! lam really astonished to 
hear you talk as you do ! ” 

‘‘But why, mamma? why? You were only eighteen 
once. And if report speaks trulj'', it was then you first 
saw and loved my father. Have you forgotten those days, 
mother, or that love, though he has been in Heaven 
so many years ? No, you have not forgotten ! ” said Ber- 
enice, lifting her head for a moment to gaze on her niother^s 
still beautiful face. “No, you have never forgotten that 
love; for you who are so fair, fairer than I shall ever be, you 
have known no second love! Mother! dear mother! as 
you. loved my father, so I love Yane. As my father loved 
you, he loves me ! Oh, mother, mother, have pity on us!” 
she sobbed, dropping her head once more upon the lady^s 
bosom. 

Mrs. Brooke was touched and moved, but not for that 
would she yield. 

“ Berenice, I never heard a young lady talk so in my 
life ! I am mortified to hear you,” she answered. 

“ Oh, mother, why ? In all my soul, I find no cause for 
humiliation in this love. This love, it seems to me reli- 
gious, devotional, divine! My heart was never before so 


MYSTERY. 


145 


full of adoration to our Heavenly Father as it has been 
since I have loved this best creature of his hands !” 

Berenice, you are crazy ! ^ Best creature ! ’ — a per- 

fect stranger of whom we know next to nothing! probably 
a penniless adventurer! possibly a disreputable one also ! ” 
Oh, no, no, no, no!” passionately disclaimed Berenice. 

“ How should you know anything to the contrarj^ ?” 

“ By every look and t6ne and gesture ! bj’^ every glance 
and word and deed I know that he is what he represents 
himself to be.” 

am very sorry that he ever was permitted to set foot 
in this house. And sorrier still that he has had such free 
companionslup with you. And — yes ! — sorriest of all that 
I allowed him this last interview. Tell me, if you please, 
what passed at tliat interview.” 

“Not much indeed, mamma. He kept his word to you. 
He bound me by no pledge,” answered Berenice, sadly. 

“ And would 3'ou have given him one ? ” 

“But for your prohibition, mamma, yes,*l w'ould, for he 
pledged me his troth.” 

“ He did ! ” indignantly exclaimed Bosamond Brooke,* 
as the sanguine color flushed scarlet, over her fair face 
and neck. “ He dared to do that ! ” 

“ Mamma, do not be angry. He did no more than he 
had a right to do. Surely he had a right to do as he 
pleased with his own liberty, though no right at all to 
meddle with mine unless by 3'our consent.” 

“I really do think thie young people of this age are all 
mad enough to be shut up in lunatic as^dums ! ” exclaimed 
E-osamond, unable to overcome her anger. “ Now then, 
tell me what else passed at that discreet interview.” 

“ I accepted his troth, mamma, and though I could not 
then give him mine, because ^mu had forbidden him to take 
it, I promised to wait for him until I could do so.” 

9 


146 THE FAMILY DOOM. 

You promised ! That was an evasion ! a prevarication 1 
a ‘ whipping the devil round a stump ! ’ ’’ 

‘‘Be patient, dear mamma, and hear me out. He would 
not take my promise even for so little. While binding him- 
self to me for ever, he left me free as air/’ 

‘‘ He did right in leaving you free. But let me tell you 
]>erenice, that ^mu did very, very wrong, under such circum- 
stances, to accept his troth. It is an unequal bargain, for 
one thing.” 

“ Or it would be mamma, were I not at heart as firmly 
bound to him as his plighted word could bind him to me,” 
said Berenice, pale with the earnestness of her soul. 

“ Good Heavens ! ” cried Mrs. Brooke, in disma}", 
‘‘whatever is to become of this perverse girl? — Well, I 
thank the Lord that the man is going away, and then I 
hope you wdll forget him just as fast as ever you fell in love 
with him. It is the usual consequence, you foolish girl.” 

“ I shall never forget him, dear mamma ; nor is he going 
away — without ijie,” calmly replied Berenice. 

“ What ! ” cried Mrs. Brooke. “ Not going awa}* with- 
out you ? What is it you dare to hint ? ” 

“Nothing that need offend you, dear mother. He does 
not dream of taking ^mur daughter without your leave. 
But, mamma, I could not bear to part with Vane ! I lost 
my breath at the very thought of doing so! I — I believe 
I told him as much, and begged him not to leave me.” 

“ You ! you — my daughter — to lower yourself so 
much ! ” 

“ I did not lower myself, dear mother. He loved me so ; 
and I begged him not to leave me. I could not help it. It 
was a matter of living or of dying to me. It was hard 
enough — Heaven only knows how hard — for me, after being 
BO happy with liim everj" day, to have him go even from 
this house ; but if he had been going from the neighbor- 
hood also, it would have killed me, mamma. It would ! it 


M Y S T E Tl Y . 


147 


would ! So it is for my sake that he consents to stay in 
the neighborhood, tliat he may keep me alive by seeing me 
sometimes, and that he may at last win your good will and 

your consent to our marriage 

“ That he may hide himself in this remote region to 
elude the officers of the law until he can rurToff with an 
heiress, more likely; for he is verj' probably a fugitive from 
justice, or an escaped felon ! ” 

Oh, mother ! mother ! how bitterly unjust you are I 
How sorry will feel for saying this some day when you 
shall know him as he is.’^ 

I wish he was at the Old Nick, that I do ! — So he has 
plighted his troth to you ; and he is to remain in the 
neighborhood until he can take you awaj* with him. A 
pretty arrangement, upon my word and honor ! And you. 
Miss Brooke, what is to be your place in the programme ? 
sharply demanded the lady. 

“ I shall hold mj^self pledged in honor, if not in word, to 
wait for Vane until he can win your sanction to our union.’^ 
‘‘ And if he never can, how then ? ” 

** Mamma, I cannot contemplate such a contingency. I 
have too much faith in Vane’s merits and in your own sense 
of justice.” 

I shall go crazy ! 1 cannot compel the fellow to leave 

the neighborhood — that’s certain. I wish the sea had 
swallowed him!” exclaimed Rosamond Brooke, recklessly 
expressing a desire that she was certainly never cruel 
enough to entertain, even for that most obnoxious of all 
beings, an objectionable (prospective) son-in-law. 

‘‘Oh, mother, mother! if you love me do not speak so! 
do not ! For I love him, mother ! I love him ! And the 
harm that should come to him would kill me ! ” 

“ Hold your tongue ! You’re a lunatic ! I’ll go and 
have a talk with grandmother Journey,” exclaimed Rosa- 
mond Brooke rising, and leaving the room. 


148 


THE F A ]M I I. Y DOOM. 


Madam Journey was over seventy years of age; and she 
was too often flouted and badgered by her elderly daughter, 
and her middle-aged grand-daughter. But she was really 
mistress of the house, and beyond that she was wise and 
good ; so that in any great emergency she was always ap- 
pealed to. 

Mrs. Brooke found her still in the housekeeping-room, 
and still engaged in picking currants for the next day’s 
plum-pudding. Bursting into the room, and throwing her- 
self into a chair, she broke out with : 

“Grandma! I wish to goodness that Vane Vandeleur 
had never entered this house ! And now that he is gone, 
I hope and trust that you will never let him come in 
again 1 ” 

“Now, noxv^ Bosamond ! don’t you begin ! Here’s Horty 
been baiting me like a bull, till I’m half wild I Why 
shouldn’t the young man come back again ? He is a very 
good-looking young man, and an extremely well-behaved 
one,” said Madam Journey, defiantly. 

“ But we know nothing about him ! ” 

“ That is to say, nothing against him ! ” 

“No, nor nothing in his favor.” 

“ Every man is to be held innocent until he shall be 
proved guilty. Suppose we agree to hold this young 
stranger, who is not even charged with a misdemeaiior, far 
less convicted of a crime, worthy until we prove him to be 
otherwise ? ” proposed the old lady. 

“ But how do we know that he has not been convicted of 
crime ? He may be an escaped prisoner for aught we know, 
as I have just told that foolish girl of mine.” 

“We have not the slightest reason to think that or any 
other ill against him.” 

“ Well, perhaps not. But if we cannot convict him of 
crime, 1 do most distinctly charge him with a misdemeanor, 
in having abused our trust by courting my daughter.” 


MYSTERY. 


149 


don’t see any abuse of trust in that. It was so natu- 
ral. Young people will love as birds will pair. It is un- 
lucky for him, since he can’t get his sweetheart on any 
terms.” 

“ I don’t know that,” sighed Mrs. Brooke. 

“ T know it, ihen^' affirmed Madam Journey. 

“ But, grandmother, the girl is just as infatuated with 
him as he is with her.” ' 

I am sorry for that, since she will have to give him up 
whether she likes or not.” 

“ She will never give him up. She has said so in so 
many words.” 

^‘Theii she is a very self-willed, impertinent young lady. 
It seems by what you say that the young fellow has actual- 
ly proposed to her and been accepted.” 

“ Yes, grandma’, that is just what has happened.” 

“What? without ^’’our consent?” exclaimed the old 
lady in astonishment. 

“ No ; they affect to abide my consent. I had better tell 
you all about it,” said Mrs. Brooke, impetuously. 

“Do ; then, perhaps, I may be better able to comprehend 
the situation.” 

Bosamond Brooke then detailed, at some length, the inci- 
dents in the interviews between herself and Mr. Vandeleur, 
between Mr. Vandeleur and Berenice as related by the lat- 
ter, and finally between Berenice and herself. 

“ And now, grandma’, you see how it is. They love or 
think thej' love each other to the death. But they will do 
nothing wrong, not they. He will keep his word to me 
and exact no promise from her — not he. And she will not, 
at least for the present, marry against my will. But yet, 
he has set himself down here before Henniker as a besieg- 
ing armj’’ invests the city — with the intention of certainly 
taking it, sooner or late? And the worst of it is that in 
her he has a friend within the fortress.” 


150 


THE F A M T I. Y DOOM. 


Yes ; I see how it is. But lie cannot conquer even 
with the aid of ^ his friend witliin the fortress.’ For I will 
so manage this matter that this very friend shall be the one 
to advise him to raise the siege.” 

“ What, Berenice Y ” 

‘‘Yes: Berenice.” 

“ Berenice advise him to leave this nighborhood ? ” 

« Yes.” 

“ Why, my dear grandma’, as I have just told you, she 
was the very one who first encouraged him — nay, entreated 
him — to remain.” 

“ But, for all that, she shall be the very one who shall 
implore him to go awa}’ at once.” 

“ You can do this ? ” 

“ You will see that I can.” 

“ But how ? ” 

“ That is my atfair.” 

“ But T do not understand.” 

“ I do not suppose you do.” 

“ You speak in riddles, grandmamma.” 

“Perhaps I do.” 

“ But wh}'' make a mystery of this ? ” 

“For reasons. And do not you venture to pry into my 
‘ mysteiy.’ Those who seek the solutions of mysteries, 
from Bluebeard’s wives down, have generally come to grief. 
It is enough for you to know that 1 am able to use such 
arguments with your daughter as shall restrain her to dis- 
miss her lover, however dear he may be to her heart — 3^es ; 
the dearer he may be, the sooner shall she dismiss him,” 
said the old lady, solemnly. 

“ Oh ! you have found out something against him ? ” 

“Nothing on earth ! I thing you ought to know that, by 
what I have already said. Did I not remind you that we 
knew nothing against him !” 

Then you have reason to suspect something.” 


M Y S T E Tl Y . 


151 


** Noj nothing in the world. The young man may be as 
well-born as a.prince, as wise as a philosopher, and as holy 
as a monk, for aught I know or suspect to the contrar}". 
No; the arguments I shall use to Berenice have nothing 
whatever to do with him, any more than with, any other 
man, however eligible, who might want to marry her.” 

And now, mother, you make me serioush’’ uneasy. It 
is as if there were some cause, in Berenice herselfj why she 
should not many. And yet there cannot be, or I, her 
mother, would know.” 

Tliere is a cause in Berenice herself, and you her mother 
ought to know it — it is her extreme youth,” said the old 
lady quickly and evasively ; for again slie perceived that she 
liad been hurried into saying more than she liad intended, 
Mrs. Brooke, totally misapprehending her, answered : 

“ I am very much afraid, grandma’, if your arguments 
are based ‘upon the 3muth of Berenice the\' will have very 
Jittle effect. The 3’^oung people both, as 3^11 have heard me 
sa3', declare themselves willing to wait, he, in the mean- 
time, remaining near her.” 

Never mind ; I will undertake that she shall relieve him 
of such dut3% Send her to me,” 

When ? ” inquired Mrs. Brooke, who, tliough incredu- 
lous, was willing to try all means to separate the objection- 
able visitor from her daughter. 

“ Well, not now, because I am busy with mixing the in- 
gredients for thfi plum-pudding for to-morrow’s dinner. It 
is always better when mixed the da3^ before it is to be 
eaten,” said Madam Journey — who was so practical that, 
had the sound of the last trump been announced for noon, 
she would have ordered dinner all the same, in case there 
should be any change in the programme. 

“ Then, when will you see her, grandma’ ? ” 

In about an hour from this. But don’t you worry. 
I will send for her when I am at leisure.” 


Ib2 


T H i: F A M I L T I) O OTM . 


Very well, gnviulma^, and I liope you will liare more 
success with her tlian I have liad,” said Kosamond Broohe, 
as she left the room. 

“ Ah, siglied the old lady to herself, as soon as she was 
alone, “ nearly all my life have I had this dark secret oji 
my mind — this awful responsibility on my soul ! When I 
was but a child, 013^ poor, dear mother comniitted it to my 
keeping ; but I doubted its reality and disregarded its 
warning — and so, suffered its penalty. And even then I 
doubted still, though fate seemed to force the facts upon 
me! I would not tell m3" daughter Hortensia, though the 
evidence of the truth of that story was thickening around 
me, and so she suffered from my silence. I would not even 
tell my grand-daughter, Rosamond, though not a doubt of 
its awful truth remained upon m3' mind ; and so she in 
turn became its victiFii ! But now I must tell Berenice! 
To withhold the story from ller would be a crime! I will 
tell her the penalty, and then — let her do as she pleases ! ” . 

And then the practical old lady, with this secret weigh- 
ing upon her heart, went on picking her currants and ston- 
ing her raisins, just as victims have been known to care for 
their own, or other people’s smallest comforts, on the eve of 
a battle or even of execution ! 

An hour later than this, Berenice, seated sewing in the 
common sitting-room, in company with Mrs. Brooke and 
Mrs. Dering, received a summons to attend Madam Journe3' 
in the old lad3’’s cliamber. ^ 

With a boding paiig at her heart, which could imagine 
nothing less than another discussion of her own love affairs, 
the 3"oung girl laid aside her work and arose and went to 
obey the call. 


CHAPTER XL 


BEKEXICE HEARS HER FATE. 

I could a tale unfold whose lightest word, 

Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood.— ShakespejIRK 
/ 

Berenice passed into tlie adjoining back room whicli was 
the on]}'' bed-chamber on that floor, and vvhicli was occupied 
by the mistress of the house for the convenience of being 
ahva3’^s near the scene of her duties and cares in store-room 
and kitchen. 

The forebodings of Berenice of course proved true. She 
found the ofd lad^' seated in her great arm-chair, near tlie 
stand in the chimney-corner, at whicli she usually sat when 
reading her books of devotion. 

Come here my child, and sit down at my feet,’’ she said, 
as she gently drew a cushion near her. 

Berenice, full of dread, approached, and took the indi- 
cated seat. 

Now give me your hand and rest your head upon my 
lap if you will, for Berenice, m3' darling, I am going to 
give 3'ou great pain,” said Madam Journe}^, tenderlj^, la3’’- 
ing her hand upon the glossy dark hair of the girl. 

It is about Vane, dear grandma,” breathed Berenice, 
ineekl3’ 3'et half defiantly. 

Yes, it is about Mr. Vandeleur — partly^^ gently replied 
the old lad3’. 

^‘But grandma ” began Berenice. 

I know what you would saj’^, my dear,” interrupted Mad- 
am Journey, I know all about it, Berenice. Your mother 
has told me everything, so we need not go over all that 
ground again. Besides, I have had the very same thing to 
meet man3' times in my life — first, when in opposition to 
my own dear mother’s will, I wrung from her affections a 


154 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


reluctant consent to iny marriage with Captain Jern^iiig- 
ham, wlio was killed in a sea tight within twelve niontlks 
after. The second time was when I weakly yielded to the 
inclination of my daughter Hortensia, and permitted her to 
marry Colonel Dering, an officer in a marching regiment; 
who took her to a frontier fort, where, within a few months 
he was slain, and she herself was nearly scalped by the 
Indians. And the third time, Berenice, was when my 
grand-daughter, j’our mother, married your father. Are 
you listening to me, Berenice ? ” 

With all my soul, grandma.^’ 

Of course I had no legal control over my grand-daugh- 
ter. Her mother was living and was her natural guardian.. 
I had no power to prevent her marriage ; nor could I have 
prevented it, except by telling a certain secret known then 
only to myself and two others. I shrank from telling the 
fatal story, and I let circumstances take their natural 
course. So the marriage went forward, and all the threat- 
ened misery ensued, bringing a ten-fold darker doom than 
anj’^ that had preceded it. I cannot bear to think of that, 
much less to speak of it. It is enough to remind you, 
Berenice, of what jmu have very frequently heard — that 
you were orphaned before you were born.” 

Oh grandma ! ” ’ 

And now, mj’’ child, give me your closest attention.” 

I will ! I win ! ” 

“ The story that I withheld from the others, I am about 
to impart to you, to you only, and in confidence. You will 
be true to my trust ? ” 

Yes, yes, dear, dear grandmother,” said Berenice, 
clasping her hands, and gazing into the face of her old 
friend, and her eyes were large and her face pale with fore- 
boding dread. 

“This tale will tiy you much, dear r)erenice. It will 
smite you with both pain and sluime. But you have, great 
fortitude, my girl. So listen and be firm and patient.” 


BERENICE HEARS HER FATE. 155 


“1 will try/’ breathed Berenice, very softly and sadly. 

♦ * * * * * 

An hour later than this, as Mrs. Bering and Mrs. Brooke 
were seated together in the common sitting-parlor where 
Berenice had left them engaged in their needle-work, they 
were startled by a piercing shriek and a heavy fall in Mad- 
am Journe3^’s chamber. 

Simultaneously they sprang up and rushed into the ad- 
joining room, where they found Berenice extended lifeless 
upon the floor, and Madam Journey standing with clasped 
hands and strained eye-balls gazing down upon her. 

Oh she is dead ! You have killed her ! Oh mother, 
what did you do to her ? What did you say to her to throw 
her into this state?” cried Mrs. Brooke, beside herself with 
grief and terror, as she threw herself down upon the floor 
and raised the head of her swooning daughter. 

Berry, my darling, speak to me ! speak to me, Berry 1 
Oh mother, what did you say to her to throw her into this 
state ? ” 

“ I TOLD HER THE SECRET,” moaned the old lady in 
tones so low. and hollow that their meaning escaped the 
ears of her hearers, especially as Mrs. Bering was talking 
volubly. 

Lay her head down again, Rosamond. Never raise the 
liead of a fainting subject. 1 thought you knew better than 
to do that. Bon’t be alarmed. She is only in a faint. She 
will come around all right presentljL Let me ring for 
Cuba to lay her on the bed. But stay, I think I can do it 
m^'self,” said Mrs. Bering, stooping and placing her strong 
arms under the form of the lifeless girl, and raising her as 
easily as she could have raised a child. 

She laid her flat on the bed and flung water in her face, 
and used other simple remedies to restore her to conscious- 


ness. 


166 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


While Mrs. Deriiig was thus occupied, Kosamond was 
again questioning tlie old lady. 

“ Grandma, what was it that threw her into this state 
she asked for the third time. 

Madam Journey, who had now quite recovered her pres* 
ence of mind, answered evasively: 

I urged upon her the dutj’^ of giving up this young 
man to whom we are all so much opposed. I prevailed on 
her to do it, but it went very hard with her, as you see. 
She fell like a dead woman. But better this than the 
marriage. Dont be frightened, mj" dear Kosamond. Your 
child is only in a swoon. She will come out of it in good 
time, and then we must all do what w’e can to comfort and 
amuse her. As for the dreaded marriage, give jmurself no 
uneasiness about that either. It will never take place. 
She herself will tell you so as soon as she comes to her 
senses.” 

But it w'as long before Berenice Brooke came out of the 
death-like swoon into which she had been thrown by hear- 
ing the fatal fiimily secret. And when at length she did 
revive, it almost seemed as if the spirit of the real Berenice 
had fled forever, and some other had taken its place, so dif- 
ferently she looked. 

When she opened her eyes, the first object that met her 
glance, were her mother's eyes, gazing anxiously down up- 
on hers. 

“Berry, my darling, how are you? How are you, 
love?” inquired the lady, laying her hand softly upon the 
damp, dark tresses of the suffering girl. 

She closed her ej^es again and sighed, but answered noth- 
ing. 

“ Speak to me. Berry. How do you feel, darling ? ” re- 
peated the lady. 

She looked up with a glance full of anguish as she 
moaned forth her answer. 


BERENICE HEARS HER FATE. 157 


“ I do not know, mamma. Have pity on me. Let me 
be,” and she closed her eyes again. 

‘^Yes, leave her alone. Give her time to recover,” ad- 
vised the old lad3\ 

All that day Berenice laj^ quietly on the bed, neither 
speaking nor moving, nor caring to do eitlier. 

The next morning sire arose and went about her usual 
occupations, but not in her usual spirit. She was so pale, 
still, silent, lifeless, that her mother, who, with all her blus- 
ter, had a soft heart, and according to Madam Journey, a 
soft head also, became deeply troubled. Seeking out the 
broken-hearted girl she said to her : 

“ Berry, my darling. Berry, don’t grieve so dreadfully. 
I cannot bear to see you do it. Bather than you should 
suffer so, I would consent to — to almost anything. So if 
you really do think so much of this young man, and he can 
prove himself to be worthy of you, I will take back my re- 
fusal, and I will bring over the others also to consent to 

your engagement with him ” 

Stop, mother ! dear mother stop ! it is impossible ! I can- 
not marr}*^ Vane !” interrupted Berenice, in a voice vibrat- 
ing with pain. 

“ Oh yes you can, if he should prove himself to be fit for 
you.” 

“If he were a king I could not marry him, mamma.” 

“ Oh yes 3'ou could — that is to say if you both wished to 
do so.” 

“ Then I would not,, mamma ! I feel your goodness to 
me. But I have one prayer to make of you.” 

“What is it my darling. I would do an^^thing to give 
you comfort.” 

“Never speak of this subject to me again.” 

“ I will not, since it pains 3"ou,” said Mrs. Brooke. 

Later in the day Mrs. Brooke detailed the conversation 
to Madam Journey. 


158 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


The old lady’s comment upon it was short.* 

‘‘ Berenice is right.” 

“But the 3'oung man will be coming here. iTou invited 
him.” 

‘‘ Well, lot him come, and let her send him away,” said 
the mistress of the house. “ And that ftlso will be right.” 


CHAPTER XII. 

PINKY SKINNER. 

Oh, when she’s anjjry she is keen and shrewd I 
She was a vixen when slie went to school. 

And though she is but little she is fierce. — Shakespeare. 

Meanwhile the sleigh containing Captain Storms, hia 
brother, his son, his ward, and his guest, sped onward to- 
wards Storms’ Point. The road la}'- along the snow-covered, 
banks of the frozen creek. It was, even at this bleak sea- 
son, a picturesque and interesting route — especially to the 
lovers of nature, animate or inanimate. On oim side lay 
the woods, bare of leaves, and sheathed in a panoply of 
shining ice; but peopled still with its pretty little wild 
creatures. Snow-birds and red robins hopped about from 
twig to twig, from icicle to icicle, in the vain search for 
worm, or insect, seed, or nut, long since dead and buried. 
Poor little starvelings ! they must turn mendicants or 
thieves, or beg and steal their food from about human hab- 
itations. Squirrels and rabbits peeped from their holes in 
the hollows of the trees, and seeing intruders in the shape 
of dangerous human strangers, scuttled out of sight quickly 
as their swift little limbs could carry them. Once a fox 
showed himself, but seeing his natural enemy, fled as fast 
as his long legs would let him. 

On the other side of the road lay the frozen creek covered 


PINKY SKINNER. 


1:9 

with snow, crusted with frost, and fringed with a forest of 
icicles. Over its hard, wliite bosom flocks of water-fowl 
flew, screaming as they fled onward towards their haven of 
rest. Across all slanted the crimson rays of the setting 
sun, transfiguring the frozen creek into a plain of frosted 
lire and the ice-slieathed woods into a forest of diamonds. 

On sped the sleigh, its passengers closel}^ mufiied in furs, 
for the air was “ bitter cold ; ” and saying little or nothing 
to each other, for at the rate at which they were going they 
had not much chance to talk. 

Suddenly Halcjmne seized the reins, checked the horses, 
sprang from the sleigh, and ran into the woods. 

“Whabis that for?” inquired Mr. Vandeleur, in aston- 
ishment. 

Who can tell ? To redress some wrong, or deliver some 
victim, perhajis 1 She is a little Donna Quixotta, she!” 
laughed old Storms. 

“Well, we have got to wait here for her Quixotship, I 
suppose ! ” said Mr. Dickson, impatiently. 

But even as he spoke Halc3mne re-appeared, her gfty 
Scotch plaid dress making a glow of light and color amid 
the snow as she ran out from the wood and sprang up into 
her seat beside her uncle. 

“ Now what was that for ? ” demanded the old man. 

“ To upset the bird-traps ! Do you think I was going 
to pass by and leave those treacherous traps th^re to en- 
snare the poor little confiding birds ? Not if T see them ! 
How would we like it if we should be freezing and starv- 
ing, and should see a fine feast laid out under a cozy shed, 
and everything inviting us to enter and be warmed and fed ; 
and then the moment we did enter and sat down to feast, to 
have the whole concern fall on us and crush us ? And 
that is just the way, we with our superior intelligence and 
inferior religion, betray the confiding little creatures that 
God has trusted to our power > ” said Halcyone, indig- 


160 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


naiitly. “ Then I suppose I am not to have a stuffed rabbit 
nor a jugged hare nor a broiled bird this season, and all on 
account of your Quixotism ! ” exclaimed Captain Tom. 

I don't know, Guardy I In strict justice you know you* 
have not the smallest shadow of a right to one of these 
wild creatures, since you give them neither food, shelter, 
nor care. But I will not say that you shall not have all 
that you kill with powder and shot — since you kill them 
openly and even give them a small chance of escape ; but 
as for trapping birds and snaring rabbits, and the like 
treacherj' — Guardy, if I were to catch an}’^ friend of mine 
at such meanness, I — I would cut his acquaintance ! Yes ! 
that I would. Is treachery less infamous because it is prac- 
tised on the smallest and most helpless creatures ? ’’ she 
demanded of the party at large. 

“ Certainly not,” laughed Captain Storms answering for 
the rest. “ But is killing le.ss murderous when it destroys 
the most inoffensive and defenceless of animals? And yet 
you acknowledge that jmu tolerate the shooting of birds ? ” 
Yes, tolerate^ but not approve ! .1 just tolerate it as the 
lesser of two almost intolerable practises. Heaven and 
earth ! how much we shall have to answer to our Creator 
for our ill-usage of his little creatures.” 

“ Hal. McAlpine tifrned preacher ! ” exclaimed Mr. Dick- 
son Storms, with a whistle. 

“ Yes, I will preach for the poor little creatures that can’t 
preach for themselves ! for there is onl}’^ one set of beings 
that is more utterly in our power, and that I pity more 
than I do the dumb beasts, and that is tlie little babies!” 
said Halc 3 ’one. 

As she spoke Captain Storms, who was driving, drew the 
right rein and turned the horses’ heads down towards the 
creek ; they liad reached a point where it was supposed to 
be safe to cross on the ice — for the home of the Storms’ lay 
beyond the other side of the creek far down on the store* 
of the bay. 


PINKY SKINNER. 


161 


Kot a word was spoken during the passage across to the 
opposite bank. They felt the whole mass of ice quake and 
give under the weiglit of their loaded sleigh, they heard it 
sough and sob as it sank and rose, with the force of the suc- 
tion below — sensations that would have made the boldest of 
novices, in the same circumstances, quake with fear. Ihit 
the Storms Imd dared the like feat too many times to feel 
any qualms about it now. The3’^ landed safel}’’ on the other 
side, and the captain drew the right rein and turned 
the horses’ heads around, and drove down towards the 
mouth of the creek. And now again the^* had tlie ice-clad 
forest on one hand and the frozen creek on the other. 
Onl^’- now instead of having the crimson light of the set- 
ting sun, they had the white, silvery splendor of the full 
moon. 

It had grown much colder since the sun had set. The 
travellers drew their wrappings closer around them and 
huddled together for warrntli. 

Whew ! I’ve been on the banks of Greenland in my 
time, and I’m blowed if I think it was much colder there 
than it is here now ! bands are so stiff I scarcely 

can iiold tlie reins. Here, Hal.! take the “ribbons” a 
minute, while I beat some life into m^'^ fingers,” said the 
captain. 

“ Allow me, sir ! ” hastily exclaimed Vane Vaudeleur, 
bending forward. 

“ No, no, you’re ’way back there ! You couldn’t drive 
convenientl3\ Let Hal. here take the reins. She’s in the 
right place, and she’s used to them, and she won’t have to 
Imid ’em more’n a minute. Dan ! I do believe m}'- fingers 
are frost-bitten ! ” cried the old man, clapping and blow- 
ing his hands. 

“Never mind, we shall be home in a short time, 
Guard^'^ ! We have only six miles to go now. See, here, 
we are at tlie Old Church Koad,” said Halcj'one, soothingly. 

10 


1J2 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


‘‘At the Old Chnrch Eoad! So we are. We have come 
like lightning! We shall soon be at the Point now. 
Mr. Vandeleur ! look I there is the Old Church Poad as it 
is called. It is one of. the oldest roads in tlie whole coun- 
try. It was laid out in the first year of tlie settlement of 
the colony. It leads to the site of the firsts or one of the 
first, Catholic churches ever built on this continent. The 
church was burned by the Indians ; but was afterwards 
rebuilt and endowed b}'^ a very wealthy woman who was 
— either a very great saint or a very great sinner, blovved 
if I know which ! — history has left the point unsettled and 
posterity caivt settle it,” said the Captain. 

“ Are you speaking of the church of St. Posalie ? 
inquired Vandeleur. 

• “ Why of course I wliat other Catholic church is there 
about here? Souls and bodies! we are not so rich in 
churches! You had a distant view of it, you know, from 
the parlor windows of Widowville.” 

“ Of the steeple, rising above a clump of firs on the top 
of a wooded hill. That was all.” 

“Well now, a few rods further on you shall have a full 
view of the whole establishment, steeple, church, church- 
yard, priests’ house and all — all monuments of the holiness 
of the saint, or the remorse of the sinner ” 

— “ Or of both,” suggested Vane. 

“ ‘ Or of both,’ ” agreed the captain, as he stopped the 
sleigh at a point from which St. Posalie, with all its de- 
pendencies, could be seen. 

It was a small gothic edifice built of white freestone, in 
the shape of a cross, and with a high steeple and belfry 
and surrounded by a church-yard, shaded with evergreen 
trees and dotted with tombstones that gleamed like sheeted 
ghosts through that dark foliage in the moonIig])t. On the 
left of the church stood the priests’ house, a long, low white 
building of one story, with an attic, and surrounded by its 


PINKY SKINNER. 


163 


kitchen ami flower garden, shrubbery and orchard. A low 
brick wall separated the grounds of the house from the 
church-yard. And all now in their winter dress of ice and 
snow shone like silver in the splendor of tlie moonlight. 

‘‘ A beautiful group of buildings !” said Vane, in sincere 
approbation. 

Yes ; bnt man alive ! not beautiful enough to keep us 
sitting here staring at it wliile we freeze! Get up, ponies!’’ 
exclaimed the old man, as he once more started his horses. 

“ Souls and bodies ! it is cold enough to freeze h em ! — • 

the Kingdom of Satan ! Lord bless us I I hope Pinky 
Skinner will have something hot and spicy for us when we 
get home ! ” fervently added the old man. 

“You may take your Bible oath to that, sir,” said Harry, 
laughing ; “ but whether it will prove palatable or not is a 
question.” 

“ Ah ! I take 3^11, jmu dog ! I take you ! You mean 
she will give us a taste of something hot as to her temper 
and spic}* as to her tongue ! ” 

“Yes ! that’s just what 1 do mean.” 

“ Kow, Harry ! just jmu let Pinky Skinner alone ! You 
ought to stop talking about her behind her back when jrou 
know very well 3'ou daren’t even sa}' jmur soul’s your own 
before her face ! ” said Halc^'one. 

“ That’s so,” chuckled the captain. 

“ But see here, Mr. Vandeleur,” said Harr}", turning and 
appealing to Vane, “I leave it to 3"ou. Isn’t that woman’s 
name enough to begin with ? Pinky Skinner! Was ever 
a name so suggestive of sharp points and acute angles, of 
claws and fangs, of scratching and flaying, as^ — ‘Pinky 
Skinner!’” 

“ ‘ A rose by any other name — ’” began Vane smiling. 

— “No! I protest it wouldn’t!” interrupted Harry. 
“ If a rose were called Pinky Skinner it would be all 
thorns ! ” 


164 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


But here we are almost home ; and the young gentle- 
man will have an opportunity of forming an opinion of the 
• — the individual in question from personal observation/^ 
put in the old man. 

Thej^ already reached a spot near the mouth of the creek, 
and had turned southward, and were now driving along tlie 
shore of the Chesapeake. On their right hand tlie bay lay 
spread out like a sea of fluid silver, shining in the glory of 
the moonlight. 

Before them some distance ahead, a high point of land 
crossed the view and stretched far out into the sea. Upon 
this point stood a large, low, old-fashioned house, with 
many out-buildings about it, and a few -sveird trees among 
them, the whole enclosed in a low stone wall. A bleaker 
home to look at could scarcely be conceived. Yet the old 
captain hailed its appearance with pride and joy. 

Ah ! there it is ! The Point of Storms, or Stormy 
Point ! but whetlier it was first so named after its owner or 
after its climate, blest if I can tell. All 1 know is that my 
forefathers have lived there nearlj^ two centuries, and it is 
the most blusterous place on the baj" ! he said. 

“There is a light!” exclaimed Harry, whose young eyes 
were very sharp. “ There is a light in the old oak parlor. 
So Pinky Skinner is still up. I wonder if she expects us.” 

“I dare say she does,” put in Mr. Dickson ; “perhaps 
she has been looking for us more or less, ever since we have 
been away.” 

The sleigh sped on with railway speed until it was 
stopped by the first gate leading into the captain’s domains. 
Hariy jumped down and opened it and the sleigh passed 
and flew on towards the house and drew up before the long 
porch that sheltered the front doors and windows of the 
lower story. 

“Harry, see to the horses while I take these shivering 
souls into the house,” said the old man as, with the agility 


PINKY SKINNER. 165 

of youth, he sprang from the sleigh, followed by all his 
party. 

The door of the captain’s homestead was seldom locked 
by day or niglit. So, witliout an instant's delaj^, he turned 
the latch and opened it, saying heartily: 

‘‘ Come in, come in, all hands! I dare saj’^ we shall find 
something comfortable to compensate us for our long, cold 
drive.” 

They found ‘^something comfortable,” as the old man 
opened a second door on his right and led his party into 
a large, old-fashioned, oak-paneled parlor with a great 
yawning fire-place where burned a fire the like of which 
Vane had never looked upon in his life. Huge hickory logs 
of the thickness of the tree were piled one upon the* top of 
another, across strong iron fire dogs, and all were ablaze 
with a volume of flame that warmed the room with a genial 
heat and lighted it up as with an illumination. No need 
of other light there! and very different that from the 
splendid, stifling, furnace-heated, gas-lit mansion of the 
city. 

Tor the rest, the room was plain enough. The roj’^al 
hickorj' wood-fire in the broad fire-place was the only piece 
of magnificence in it. The polished oak floor was bare 
indeed, but it was so clean and bright that it reflected the 
fire-light as a lake reflects the sunshine. There were no 
curtains to tlie big windows, but as the oaken shutters were 
closed, the draperies were not missed. Over the fire-place 
was a high mantel-piece on which was neatly arranged sea- 
shells, corals, whale’s teeth, roc’s eggs, and other “curiosi- 
ties” collected by the old skipper in the more extended 
voyages of his younger days. On both sides of the ’chim- 
ney the recesses were filled up by cupboards with glass 
doors, through which might be seen still more of the old 
skipper’s ocean treasures. On the w^alls hung many cheap, 
colored pictures, mostly portraits of prominent sailors and 


1G6 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


representations of celebrated sea-figlits. Chip and flag- 
bottomed cbairs were formally ranged along the walls. 

But in the centre of the room stood the object cf attrac- 
tion, next in interest and importance to the great hickory 
fire — namely, a substantial supper-table — a stout oak table, 
covered with a clean, coarse, linen cloth, and furnished with 
a serviceable rather than an ornamental set of crockery- 
ware. 

You see, the old skipper was a very plain man and lived 
in a very plain way. 

The young guest had barely time to notice these things 
before the captain placed chairs near the fire, and bade them 
all be seated. But they all preferred to stand and rub their 
hands, and bask in the blaze of the hickory logs until they 
were well warmed. Then Halcyone ran away to her bed- 
chamber to take off her bonnet and wrappings ; and Mr. 
Dickson, saying that he would go and look up Miss Skin- 
ner, also went out of the parlor ; so that the captain and 
bis guest were left alone. 

Sit down, sit down,” said the old man heartily, as he 
pushed one of the chairs towards his young friend and took 
another himself, “sit down. We haveiiT got spring- 
bottomed, damask-covered ‘ sleepy hollows ’ to offer you, 
such as you enjoyed at Henniker ; but we give the best w^e 
have with a right good-will. This is a rude bachelor’s-hall, 
very different, you must understand, from Widowville. We 
have no ladies here to get up the ele'gancies — only an old 
maid and a child. Well, I can’t help it. I did the best I 
could. It isn’t m}^ fault. Goodness knows, I have asked 
ever}’- one of the widows in turn, from the old ladj' down to 
‘ fair'Bosamond,’ to come and take care of me and my bach- 
elor’s establishment; and they, one and all refused.” 

“What shocking bad taste in the ladies!” laughed 
Vane. 

“ Yes, that it was,” said the captain, confidently, “ and 


PINKY S K I N N ] <: R , 


167 


whafc is more, it was deplorable blindness. But some 
women never know what’s for their own good. Ah well, 
there’s one more chance Ivft. Little Berry is getting to be 
of a marriageable age — I will ask her soon.” 

“ How ? What ?” demanded Vane, astonished that his 
old friend should make such a statement even in jest. 

Ask Miss Brooke to marry j’-ou ? ” 

“Certainly; why not ? ” retorted the captain, throwing 
his shoulders back, expanding his chest and thrusting his 
thumbs into his vest pockets. 

“I think you told me that there existed some reason — 
some all powerful reason — why Miss Berenice Brooke 
should never marry at all,” said Vane, gravely. 

“ Hum — ha — yes ; so I did,” murmured the old man, col- 
lapsing. “ I did tell you so.” 

“And you told me more : jmu said that you had rather 
your only son should die a bachelor, or marry the meanest 
maiden in Maryland than many Miss Brooke.” 

“Yes; I did — I did; and I meant it, and do mean it. 
And now let me tell you one thing, though I spoke just 
now in jest, of course — yet I speak in earnest when I as- 
sure you that, though it would be a fatalitj^ for Berenice to 
marry you, or Harrj'’, or Blackistone, or Fairlie, or any 
other young man who is likely to ash her, yet it would bo 
her salvation to marry me.” 

“ You ! ” exclaimed the lover, in mingled astonishment, 
jealousy and indignation. 

“ Yes — me ! I could save her as a lightning-rod saves a 
building from a thunderbolt. I could do it by marrying 
her myself — and — blowed if I don’t think I will, too ! ” 

“ Stop ! for Heaven’s sake, if you are not mad or if I am 
not. If you are speaking sense, and I am hearing aright, 
let me understand this matter,” said Vane, in much per- 
plexity and distress. “ You say, in effect, that it would be 
fatal for Miss Berenice Brooke to marry any one of her ad- 


1G8 


T H K F A M I L Y I) f> O M . 


nairers who are likely’ to seek lier liund; but tliat it would 1>6 
salvation for her to marry you 

** Yes, that is just exactly what I do say ! And I am 
quite sane and sober in saying it, as you see!’^ 

And you even add that you have a great mind to marry 
her 1 ” 

“ Yes ; for her earthly salvation ! If I was on my death- 
bed to-niglit, I would send for lier to come to me, and I 
would marry her wit!) my last breath, if she would have 
me ! ” said Captain Storms emphatically. 

Vane was gazing hxedly in his face. It was plain that 
the old man was, as he himself had said, sane and sober, 
and moreover he was in solemn earnest. 

“ I wish to Heaven I could persuade you to tell me this 
mystery that hangs over the heiress of Heuniker,’’ said the 
young man fervently. 

“I cannot. I cannot in honor, now that you have en- 
joyed the hospitality of Henniker, and are even likely to 
remain in the neighborhood for an indefinite time,^^ gravely 
replied the captain. 

“ This is no jest that you are playing off upon me ? ” 

“ No jest at all ! no romance either I — as stern a reality 
as any fact in existence.” 

And yet — Mrs. Brooke did not seem to be aware of any 
reason why her daughter might not marry, except indeed 
her extreme youth,” murmured Vane, inadvertently be- 
traying himself. 

•‘She was not in the secret, perhaps But, oh ! by the 

way, why how did you come to know of IMrs. Brooke’s sen- 
timents in regard to her daughter’s marriage? Was that 
the subject of your tete-a-tete this morning? ” 

“Perhaps! But we will drop that part of the subject, 
if you please. Captain.” 

“ Certainly, if you say so. I know it is considered im- 
polite to ask questions, and especially impolite for a host to 


P I N It Y SKIN N E R . 


169 


cross-question his guest,” laughed tlie old man. Then ab- 
ruptly turning from the topic;, he exclaimed: ‘*1 wonder 
why Pinky Skinner don’t make her appearance ! She’s 
sulky, I reckon. She’s a cursed shrew but a first-rate man- 
ager, is Miss Skinner. She’ll quarrel with you, and sulk 
with you, and say all manner of bitter and spiteful things 
to 3mu and about jmu, but — she will keep your house well 
and faithfully ; and if jmu should be sick she will nurse 3mu 
with great tenderness and skill. She is one of those 
W'omen 3mu can’t live with peaceably, nor yet do without, 
possibly. Why the deuce don’t she come ? ” 

The Captain’s question was answered 1)3’ the appearance 
of Miss Skinner herself. 

She opened a door at the back of the room, giving a 
glimpse into a clean, cheery, well warmed and well lighted 
kitchen, and slie came forward towards the two gentlemen. 

Vane looked up at her with the curiosity that had been 
excited by the previous conversation, of which she had been 
the subject. 

He saw a little, slim woman, of uncertain age, with a 
little red head, a little slim face, a fair, rosy complexion, 
sharp blue eyes, sharp pug nose, and thin lips. She wore 
a light calico dress, with a white apron and a white collar. 

As she came forward, the captain arose to meet her in 
visible trepidation. 

Miss Skinner, I hope I find 3’ou well,” he ventured to 

say. 

“ Much you hope or fear about it ! — Will you have your 
supper ? ” 

If 3’ou please, yes. But here — let me introduce ray 
friend : Miss Skinner, this is Mr. Vandeleur.” 

Mr.- Bandoline f ” 

“No — Vandeleur. IMr. Vane Vandeleur, Miss Pinky 

Skinner.” 

Vane bowed and smiled with a deprecating and conciliat- 
ing expression. 


170 


T II E 


F A INI 1 I. Y DO () M . 


The graciousness was all lost on iVIiss Skinner. 

Oh ! Mr. Vain Vandal Hair,” she said, eyeing him from 
head to foot. How do you do, Mr. Vain Vandal Hair ? ” 
Then, without waiting for an answer to her question, she 
turned to the captain and asked another : 

“ Do you want your supper ? ” 

I told you yes. I should be glad to get it as soon as 
you can conveniently give it to me, and so would m}’^ friend 
here.” 

Oh, you w’ould ! I didn’t know, I’m sure ! ” 

“ Why, Miss Skinner, you might suppose we would, all 
be unusually hungry after our long, cold ride.” 

‘‘ Oh, how could I tell ? I thought after all the fine 
things you got from your widows at Widowville that 3'ou’re 
always bragging ot^ you never would be able to eat any- 
thing I could fix for you,” answered Miss Skinner tossing 
up her nose. 

“ Now, now, now, now ! Miss Pinky, that is verj^ hard. 

You know how I value 3^ou ” 

“ Oh 3'es, I know how }'ou value me ! Going to your 
ividows as soon as ever your ship touched the shore, and 
staying there a whole month ! ” 

“‘A whole month!’ Oh! oh! oh! oh! listen to her. 
Why, it was scarcely a week. And ‘ as soon as ever my 
ship touched the shore!’ as if she didn’t know I was 
wrecked there!” exclaimed the captain with an injured ex- 
pression. 

Wrecked ? Oh 3’es ! I know 3^011 were wrecked ! Kight 
on Widowville, where 3'ou wanted to go ! Oh 3’^es ! the ship 
was wrecked, nobody was drowned — and not even a bit of 
the cargo injured. Ah ha! tell that to the marines! It’s 
safe enough to Gvreck’ a ship bj" running it slowly up into 
shallow water upon a soft, saiuh’^ beach — especiall3' when it 
is Widovjoille^ where you are sure of being nursed, and 
coddled, and petted b3^ your tvidotvs/' sneered Miss Skin- 


r 1 N Jv Y F K I N N t: 1? . 


171 


ner ; and it is quite impossible to portray tlie intensity of 
spite and scorn she managed to express in the twist of lier 
tongue and the curl of her lips and nose as she uttered 
these words. 

Hem ! ’’ muttered the old man, sticking his elbow into 
the ribs of his guest wdth an admonitory poke — “ liem ! 
we’re in for a quarrel now, and we must get it over before 
we can get our supper. Jerusalem ! wouldn’t any stranger 
think that woman was m}'- wife or my sweetheart, to hear 
her go on at me as she does, and to see me put up with it 
as I do ? But she isn’t neither the one nor yet the other; 
and what’s more, she never can be, and never could have 
been. I’d as soon think of making love to a bramble bush, 
or trying to pet a cat with seventy legs and seventy claws, 
on each leg. Yet what w^ould anybody think to hear her? 
Blest if I don’t tell her she compromises herself, and me too 
every day of her life. But what does she care ? ” 

“ I’d like to know what you are wdiispering about there,” 
said Miss Skinner. “ Well, may be manners are changed 
since I was a child ; for I thought — at least I was always 
taught — that it w’as rude to whisper in company. But oh ! 
I dare say I am an old-fashioned body, and you have 
learned better things at Widowville from your widoivs.^’ 
“Pink}’^ Skinner, I do wish ^mu would let those ladies 
alone, and never trouble yourself about them,” said the 
captain, in distress. 

trouble mj^self about them! Humph! indeed! if I 
never troubled mj^self about anything else more than I do 
about your ividows, I should have an easy mind ! ” retorted 
Miss Skinner, curling up her nose with an expression of in- 
tense scorn. 

‘^Come, come, Pinky! give us our supper. That is a 
good soul ! I know you’ve got something very nice for us,” 
pleaded the master of the house. 

OA, dear ! Is that the way your ividows treat you 


172 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


aftei lieeping you from your home and your friends sSlong I 
Send you lioine lialf-starved ! Oh, my ! And after you’re 
running your sinp aground on their sliore and making 
believe 3’ou were wrecked, just for an excuse to stay there 
and be coddled by them ! And they to send you home like a 
famished, ravenous wolf I Oh, no! I’m afraid your ‘ship- 
wreck ’ didn’t quite pa}^ captain ! I’m afraid you didn’t 
gain much by that motion ! I’m sorry, too ; for if I had 
known how much you had suffered for something to eat, I 
would have had a pig killed for you I But how could 1? 
I’m sure I thought you would have been treated to the best 
of everything by your widows after wrecking your ship for 
their sake, too ! ” 

“ Good gracious ! was theie ever such a woman ! ” 
groaned the captain wiping the perspiration from his red 
face. “ Pinky, my good soul ! do let us have some supper ! 
Anything will do I The best that you have prepared! 
Oidy let us have it at once ! do ! And after that I will 
show you the elegant crimson Paisley shawl, and the rich 
black silk dress, I have brought you for a Christmas pres- 
ent! Come, now ! I brought it all the way from the city 
in my’ own chest ; and though I could not bring my chest 
home on my sleigh, but was obliged to leave it for the pres- 
ent at Widowville.” 

“ Oh, yes ! to have an excuse to go back after it I I 
know ! ” interjected Miss Skinner. 

“ I took your shawl and dress out and brought them with 
me. I did, indeed ! Now, give us some supper ! that is a 
good creature ! ” 

“ Well, I suppose I must or you’ll eat my head ! Sorry 
I didn’t know you had been starved by your widows ; be- 
cause if I had known it I would have given you something 
better,” said Miss Skinner as she left the room.” 

“Now, Vandeleur!” said the captain, solemnly and dep 
recatingly, “ isn’t this dreadful ? Why, to hear how that 


PINKY SKINNER. 


173 


woniau flouts and scorns and scolds me, and abuses and 
brow-beats me, and puts me down, one might believe I was 
her lawful lord and master ! But I'm not, and never will 
be ! 

“ Whj' do you have her here if she annoys you?” point- 
edly inquired Vane. 

Why, man alive! because I can’t help it! For one 
thing she likes the place and wouldn’t leave if it was to 
save my life ! And ' for another — she is the best house- 
keeper in the country, except the widows, of whose house- 
keeping she is so intensely jealous. But for all her sharp 
tongue, she’ll give us a very good supper, you’ll see!” 
And the captain rubbed his hands and chuckled. 

After a few moments Halcyone came in, looking around 
cautiousl}^ and asking breathlessly : 

Where is she ? Has she gone ? ” 

If you allude to Miss Pinky Skinner, she has retreated 
and withdrawn into the fortiflcations of her own domin- 
ions,” answered the captain, solemnly. ♦ 

“That’s good ! now one can have peace,” remarked Hal- 
cyone, drawing a chair and seating herself before tlie fire. 

“One would think she was afraid of Miss Pinky!” said 
the captain. 

“ No ; but I meant that you should receive the shock of 
battle alone, Guard}’ ! What’s the use of being ‘six feet one 
way, three feet ’tother,’ if you can’t bear the brunt of bat- 
tle?” laughed Halcyone, clapping her hands in glee. 

“Humph! humph! humph! I believe in my soul if 
Pinky were to fly at me and claw my eyes, she’d enjoy 
it ! ” growled the old man. 

“ Be sure she would, if by she, you mean, Hal. McAl- 
pine,” said Halcyone. “ But here comes the other 
cowards!” she added, as the door once more opened and 
gave admittance to Mr. Dickson and Harry Storms. 

They came towards the fire beating their hands together 
and blowing their lingers. 


174 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


“Rather bear the frost outside than the fire inside this 
time, eh ? Oh, you are a couple of heroes, are you not ? 
demanded Captain Storms, turning around upon tliem. 

“Why yes!” answered Harry, impudently; “Of course 
we are heroes; but what especial act of gallantry callrd 
your attention to the fact on this occasion ? ” 

“ Oh ! oh ! oh I hear him ! — So you are quite uncousclous 
then of having displayed ‘the better part of valor’ in run- 
ning away from Pinky Skinner’s sharp tongue I ” exclaimed 
the old man. 

“Hush! here she comes!” whispered Mr. Dickson, in 
something very like dismay. 

And Miss Skinner entered, bringing a large coffee pot in 
lier hand and followed by two maid-servants bearing dishes. 

“Eh! my two Haily Maries! How do you do, my 
girls ? ” inquired the captain, heartilj’, as the damsels came 
in. 

Aillie and Mary, two bright-eyed young negresses whom 
the captain called his Haily Maries, sat the dishes on the 
table, wiped their hands on the corners of their aprons and 
then came forward with smiles to welcome their old master, 
who cordially shook hands with both. 

“ Glad to see the old boss, eh ? Glad he wasn’t drowned 
in that storm ? Well I believe in my soul 3mu are ! And 
I didn’t forget jmu neither, when I was in the city ! Wit- 
ness the bright plaid dresses and the gay bandanna head 
handkerchiefs I have brought you, and will show you soon.” 

“You had better sit down to supper now, captain,” said 
Pinky Skinner, in a tone and manner, singularly serene in 
contrast to the sharpness of her late words and actions, 
“3mu had better sit down at once. Venison steaks do not 
improve by cooling.” 

“Venison steaks! venison steaks! Oh, Pinky Skinner, 
you are an angel in a. calico gown ! But where did you get 
venison ? I'/iafs something we didn’t ever get at Widow- 


PINKY S K I N N E K . 


175 


Tille — did we^ Vandoleur? But where did you raise it?” 
demanded the captain, rubbing his hands in delightful an- 
ticipation. 

^^Pike Turner has come in from the backwoods with a 
wagon load of game, all frozen. Sit down,” said Miss 
Skinner, as she took her seat at the table — for Miss Ihnky 
always presided. 

“ Take your seat, Mr. Yaiulelour ; and the rest of 3’oa 
get into your places. Let’s have no delay — ‘ delays are 
dangerous,’ especiallj’’ when a hot venison steak is cooling.” 

And in two minutes the whole party gathered around 
the table, and the host served out the savory dish before 
him, upon the hot plates beside him, and passed it on to his 
company. 

“ And now what is this ? ” he inquired, lifting the cover 
of a dish on his right. 

That ? A couple of roast prairie fowls,” answered Miss 
Skinner, with a little quiet triumph. 

“Prairie fowls!” exclaimed the captain, in delight, 
“roast prairie fowls I Oh, Pinky, a moment ago, 1 called 
you an angel in a calico gown, but what shall I call you 
now ? ” 

“ A seraph, with a sharp red nose,^’ suggested Plarry, 
softo voce. 

“Oh, Pinky, I’m bound to you forever. Plot venison 
steaks with currant jelly. Poast prairie fowls with white 
sauce. What next? What can go beyond them?” de- 
manded the old gourmand with enthusiasm. 

“ Kaise the cover on your left and see,” quietly replied 
Miss Skinner. 

“What’s this? what’s this?” enquired the captain, as 
he complied with her request and peeped, into the third 
dish. 

“A fresh buffalo’s tongue, boiled and dressed cold with 
green salad.” 


176 


THE F A M I r, Y DOOM. 


The old man uttered a cry of rapture — an inarticulate 
cry was all that lie was at first capable of. Then, finding 
his voice, he said : 

“Oh, Pinky, Pinky, if I was ^mung and handsome, I‘d 
marry jmu on the spot.” 

“No you wouldn’t neither,” put in Miss Skinner, “not 
if I knew it.” 

“I wish now I’d brought you a velvet dress instead of a 
silk one, -and an India shawl instead of a Paislej^ one. Oh, 
Pink}’^, my angel, my goddess, what shall I do for jmu ! ” 

“ Eat you supper and let j'our victuals — stop your 
mouth,” replied Miss Skinner. 

And the captain took her advice ; while Pinky looked on 
quietlj'^ enjoying her triumph. For, certainly, whatever 
might be said in favor of the superior house-keeping at 
Widowville, they had no such luxuries as these there. 

“Now where did you get all these from. Pinky?” in- 
quired the captain, when at length he had laM down his 
knife and fork to take a rest. 

“I told you Pike Turner came in from the West with a 
wagon load of game. I got the lot from him,” repeated 
Miss Skinner. 

“ And what did you have to pay him. Miss Pinky ? ” 

“Pay,” echoed the Skinner with ineffable scorn. 

“ Oh, I forgot. I beg pardon. Humph. I fear I shall 
find a rival in this strapping pioneer.” 

“Not in foolishness. Captain; for he never talks folly,” 
retorted Pike’s friend, as she arose from the table. 

As they had done supper they all followed her example. 

And then the Captain asked for bed-room candles. And 
when one of the Hailj^ Maries brought them, he turned to 
his guest, and said : 

“As it is late, and you are tired, perhaps you would 
like to retire.” 

If you please,” answered Vane. 


PINKY SKINNER. 


177 


** Aiue ! ” bawled the captain. And when the damsel 
named came into the room — “ Is the big spare bed-chamber, 
got ready ? ” lie inquired. 

Oh, yes sir.” 

Come along then, Vandeleur,” he said ; and followed by 
his young guest he led the way out into the uncarpeted 
hall, up the bare stairs, and into a large, bare, bleak front- 
room, that would have been very dreary but for the unfail- 
ing comforts of the country-house, the great, open wood- 
fire, and the comfortable, capacious feather bed, with its full 
soft pillows, and fresh clean covers. There was veiy little 
else in the room — only indeed a couple of arm-chairs, a 
dressing-table and a wash-stand, witli their accessories. 
And yet there was an air of cleanliness, health and purity 
about tlie place that was very refreshing. 

This must be a verj^ pleasant house in summer,” said 
Vane, approvingly. 

Which means that it is the very reverse in winter, 1 
suppose,” suggested the captain. 

No, no, I did not mean that.” 

“ Yes, yes ; but it is true. In winter this is the bleakest 
house I ever saw. There is only one comfort in the case: 
wood is plenty, and can be had for the cutting.” 

I like the place just as it is,” said Vane. 

“ Glad to hear it ! — Well, I must bid you good-night. 
I wish you a good rest. And see here, — this is Bachelor’s 
Hall and Liberty’s Lodge. There is no iron rule in this 
house touching the hour of rising and breakfasting. You 
may rise at any hour that suits you in the twentj^-four, and 
liave your breakfast when you are ready for it,” said the 
captain. 

Thanks and good-night,” replied Vane as his host went 

out. 

Left alone. Vane Vandeleur threw himself into the great 
arm-chair before the lire, and gave his mind up to musing 
11 


178 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


over the mystery that surrounded Berenice Brooke. Why 
must she never marry ? What were the circumstances in 
her short history that would make marriage misery for 
her ? And might there he any way of controlling them 
and evading the destiny" ? 

And above all, what could old Captain Storms have meant, 
when he affirmed that though her marriage with any one 
among her many admirers and suitors would be a fatal event, 
yet her marriage with himself, the old captain, though it 
were even on his death-bed, would be her earthly salvation ? 

Over and over again Vandeleur asked himself these 
questions, without being able to answer them. 

At length, after having perplexed himself with all sorts 
of conjectures upon this inexplicable subject, he arose and 
went to bed, and fell asleep to dream that he was very hap- 
pily married to a widow of Widow ville ! 


CHAPTER XTII. 

HOW THE captain’s REST WAS BROKEN. 

There is no peace for the wicked — T^^ overcs. 

From grave to gay, from lively to severe. — Pope. 

Meanwhile the captain went to his own bed-room, and 
threw himself into his own arm-chair before the fire. 

I didn’t bid them good night, but I can’t help it! 
They’ll have to excuse me ! For go down stairs again this 
night, or budge out of this room I won’t for anybody, or 
anything in this world ! ” he said as he stretched his feet 
to the fire. 

But the captain reckoned without his host, as he had 
done many times in his life. 

There came a knock at the door. 


THE CA-PTAIX’S REST BROKEN. 179 

Hullo ! Who the blazes is that ? ” he called. 

It is I, Guardy ! Have you gone to bed ? ” inquired 
the voice of Halcyone. 

^‘Ho ! wbat do you want? ” 

Pinkj^ Skinner ” 

‘‘ Blast Pinky Skinner ! wbat the deuce does she want ? ” 
snapped the old man as he arose and jerked open the door 
to admit his protege. 

I’m sorry if I have disturbed you, Guardy I hut it is 
quite early yet, and I thought ” 

“ What does Pinky Skinner want ? — devil fly away with 
her ! ” exclaimed the captain, cutting his visitor short.” 

Oh, nothing ! only she would like to see the presents 
you were so good as to say you had brought her.” 

“ Did she tell you so ? ” 
but ” 

“ Oh ! you artful little minx ! You speak one word for . 
Pinky Skinner and two for yourself ! You would like to 
see what is in the parcel for you, wouldn’t you, now ? ” 

Halcyone dropped her head and looked very demure. 

Well ! where is the important parcel, then ? I know I 
took it out of the sleigh myself, and brought it into the 
hall. I guess it is there now ! You had better go and s^e. 
And mind! while you are pulling things to pieces don’t 
forget to give my Hail Maries their presents, do you 
hear? ” 

“ Yes, I hear ! but oh, Guardy ! do, like a good Guardy, 
come and give them out to us yourself! We do like to 
take them from your own hands, you know !” pleaded Hal- 
cyone. 

“ You are all the time making a fool of me ! Get along 
with you then ! I’m coming!” said the kind-hearted old 
fellow, leaving his comfortable easy-chair and cosy fireside 
to go down the bleak staircase and through the windy pas- 
sage, for the sake of giving pleasure to one thouglitless 
child and three vain women. 


180 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


Here/'' he said, lifting the great bundle in his arms. 

Go before me and open the kitchen door. Pinkey and 
the kitchen-maids are in there, and it will be better to dis- 
tribute the presents there than to call them into the parlor 
where Dick and Harr}’- are smoking.” 

So Halcyone ran before and threw open the kitchen-door, 
and tlie captain followed her in, and threw the big bundle 
down upon the kitchen-table. 

“ Here ! come forward here, you daughters of Eve ! you 
incarnations of vanity ! come and see what I have brought 
to feed your folly on !” exclaimed the captain, as he took 
his pen-knife from his pocket and began to cut the cords 
that confined the packet. 

Halcj'one came and stood by the table, dancing gently 
and clapping her hands softly, but looking as if she would 
have liked to break into a jig ! 

The Hail JMaries drew near ver}- shyly, but grinning 
from ear to ear and showing ivories that outri vailed the 
dentist’s choicest work. 

But Miss Skinner held loftily aloof. 

Nevertheless she was the first served. 

Here, ]\Iiss Pinkey, these are for you,” said the old man 
crossing the floor to put in her hands the rich, black silk 
dress and the large crimson Paisley shawl. 

“ 1 am sure I am very much obliged to you, but I am 
afraid 3 'ou have robbed yourself,” said jNIiss Skinner, depre- 
catingly. 

‘Mtobbed m^’sclf ! how so ? Could I wear a gown and a 
shawl do you think ? ” asked the captain. 

No, but the cost ” 

ihat’s my business ! ” growled the old sailor as he went 
back to the table. 

Here the Hail IMaries each received a green and red 
dress and a purple and orange head-handkerchief. 

And now my darling, this is for you,” said the oU man, 


THE captain’s REST BROKEN. 181 


lifting from the bottom of the great bundle a large parcel 
carefully done up. 

It was an elegant riding habit of dark blue beaver cloth, 
elaborately trimmed with black braid and jet buttons. 

^‘Oh! this is splendid! oh, this is magnificent!’’ 
exclaimed Halcyone, in an ecstasy of delight. As she 
unrolled the habit, out dropped a round box, which ‘was 
found to contain a small black beaver hat with a black 
plume. 

Halcyone uttered an inarticulate cry of rapture and 
caught her breath I 

“ There ! those are all my treasures I How, please may 
I go to bed ? ” demurely inquired the captain. 

But Halcyone flew at him, threw herself into his arms, 
and hugged and kissed him vehemently as she cried — 

Oh, you dear Guardy ! You dear, dear old Guardy I 
how good you are to us.’’ 

But the old man kissed her and shook her off ; and then, 
oppressed with fatigue and satiety and drowsiness, and con- 
gratulating himself in feeling in an excessivel}’’ favorable 
condition for enjoying an exceedingly comfortable night’s 
rest, he waddled off once more towards his dormitory. 

But the captain was not yet to be as happy as he had 
hoped. 

On the very threshold of his chamber-door he was met 
by his son, Mr. Harry. 

‘‘ My dear father, I have been waiting for you ! I must 
speak to you before I sleep,” he said, preceding his parent 
into the room. 

Good Lord ! ” exclaimed the captain in dismay. And 
after the ride I have taken, and the supper I have eaten, 
too. — Don’t bother now, Harr3^ I am as sleepy as a dog.” 

But father, I will not detain 3mu long. I must speak 
to you to-night,” said the 3mung man, with an earnestness 
that could not be resisted. 


182 


THE FAMILYDOOM, 


Go on then ; only, for Heaven’s sake, be short,” sighed 
the veteran resignedly, as he sank into a chair beside his 
bed. 

Harry took another chair, and after a short pause, fixing 
his frank blue eyes on his father’s, said in a very tremulous 
voice : 

^‘Father, I love Berenice Brooke. And I have come 
to ” 

‘‘ I thought so ! I’m blessed if I didn’t ! ” interrupted the 
old man, every vestige of drowsiness driven from his face. 

Then if you thought so, my father, I hope you will 
kindly ” 

“ Pray have you told her this ? ” curtly demanded the 
captain, cutting right into his son’s speech for the second 
time. 

Ho sir, I have not yet told her so, in words. Yet ” 

Well, then you had better never tell her ; but let the 
matter drop just where it is,” again interrupted the captain. 

“ Ho, but my dear father, I love her. My happiness de- 
pends upon her acceptance of my love ; and I came to you 
to-night to ” 

‘‘ Make a fool of yourself, blarry ! ” 

To ask your consent before'! offer her my heart and 
hand.” 

Then you will never get my consent, that is all. I tell 
you plainly I would just as soon see you dead as married to 
Berenice Brooke.” 

“ But, sir, you astound me ! As lief see me dead as 
married to that angel ! Why what objection can there be 
to her? Humph indeed! The objection I should think 
would come from the other side, and be levelled against me 1 
I feel quite aware that I am not worthy of that young 
lady’s hand. Yet nevertheless if I can gain your consent 
to m}’- seeking it, I shall hope to gain it.” 

Harry, my boy ! Harry, my dear boy. Love any 


the captain’s rest broken. 183 . 

other woman in the countiy, and I shall raise no objection 
to your marrying her. But do not dream of uniting your 
fate with that of Berenice Brooke. It would be your ruin/’ 
pleaded the old man in deeply agitated tones. 

But, father, jmu amaze me beyond measure. How 
could it hurt me to marry the good and beautiful girl 
whom I love even to idolatiy.’’ 

“ Love anj^ one else in the wide world, Harry, but do not 
love Berenice Brooke.” 

‘‘ But I do love her, sir. And of course I cannot change 
my love about from one to another in that manner. I love 
no other — and I could love no other but her.” 

Then fly from her! Leave tlie neighborhood! Goon 
the Indian voyage ! Or accompany Pike Turner when he 
goes back to the West, and hunt buftaloes ! Ho anything 
but stay here and sink into that whirlpool of ruin,” urged 
the old sailor. 

His son gazed at him as if he thought him distraught. 

Why may I not love Miss Brooke, and seek her hand 
in marriage ?” he inquired after a jmise during which both 
had regained something of their usual self-possession. 

There are many reasons, so much uiX)n the surface, that 
it seems to me they would be obvious,” rather more calmly 
replied the captain. 

“ What are they ? ” coolly inquired the lover. 

What are they ? — They are such as to make the match 
unequal at the very onset. For instance : She is rich ; 
you are poor. She is learned ; you are ignorant. She is 
accomplished ; you are uncultivated. She is refined, you 
are rude.” 

‘‘ But not one of these circumstances form just cause. 
And for the rest, though our fortunes are fallen, our family 
is as good as hers. You will have to give me a better rea- 
son than any of those, for giving up Miss Brooke,” said the 
lover. 


184 


THE fa:mily doom. 


‘^Then, Harry, I will give yon a better reason. To do 
so, I must tell you a story. But first I wish you to promise 
me that what I am about to tell you, shall be kept a secret 
between 3'ou and me.^’ 

“I promise/’ said the young man. 

=***** * 

Tlie story was told — the story so fraught with fate and 
terror and direful warning. 

The lover listened in awe an.t wonder, and at first in in- 
credulity, that gradually gave way to conviction. As he 
heard, his usually bright blue eyes grew dull, and his fair, 
florid complexion pale with despair. 

And now,” said the narrator in conclusion, now that 
you know this, go and ask the hand of Berenice Brooke in 
marriage — if you dare.” 

The lover’s face was livid, and his lips compressed, as 
with a great agony, but he answered promptly : 

“Well ! I accept the defiance. I will lay my life at her 
feet. I will die for her.” 

“ Harry, my son ! Harry, are you mad ? What do you 
mean ?” exclaimed the father in a panic. 

“ I will take the prize and pay the penalt3^ Oh ! What 
is love worth that will not do so much as that? She will 
know how I love her at last,” he fervently answered. 

“ Well go ! ” cried the captain in the sharp tones of pain 
and anger. “ Go ! I give you leave to do so. And then 
let us see if she will accept the sacrifice.” 

“You think she will not?” questioned the youth, as a 
shade of doubt and anxiety crossed his face. 

“ I know she will not,” answered the captain, emphat- 
ically. “ The more worthy she may be of such a sacrifice 
the less likely she will be to accept it. Could she do so she 
would be entirely unworthy of it.” 

“ But for all that I shall lay this offering at her feet, and 
implore her to make me happy b}' taking it up.” 


THE captain’s '^EST BROKEN. 185 

because you are mad. But go and try it, my 
boy. Go and try it. I told 3'ou this storjr that you might 
not commit yourself — that jmu might retreat in time. 1 
wished to spare j’ou, and her also, the distress of such an 
interview as you mean to force upon her,” said the veteran 
with a sigh. 

“ I do not know, sir, that I am not even happier and 
prouder in having heard this horrible story, and in being 
able to prove to her the depth and strength of my attach- 
ment,” said Harr}’, rising to leave the room. 

‘‘ The depth of your folly and the strength of your mad- 
ness, you mean,” growled the old sailor. 

“ Good night, sir,” bowed Harry. 

Good night and be — bl-est to you ! ” 

As soon as Captain Storms was left alone, instead of 
seeking the rest he so much required, he started to his feet 
and began to trot up and down the floor, grumbling: 

Here’s a go ! here’s a go ! He’ll offer himself to Berry 
^ and as sure as a gun, she — no, she’ll not accept him ! she’ll 
reject him for half a dozen small reasons ; such as, inequal- 
ity in rank, wealth, education, refinement, and all that; 
and for the one great reason that she likes some one else 
better than him, to say nothing of the insurmountable ob- 
jection to her marrying him, or anybody else at all. Yes; 
she’ll reject him. But then it will go deucedly hard with 
him, poor miserable fellow ! And I did so wish to see 
him happy. But he is just like his poor mother — he won’t 
be happy in any other way but his own. Now I loved and 
honored the late Mrs. Storms, but I no more wanted to be 
married than I wanted to be hanged ; but she set her mind 
on it, and nothing would content her but having me. She 
wouldn’t have my brother Dickson, who was so much 
younger and better looking, nor she wouldn’t have Major 
Hoiirie, who was so much richer and more accomplished ; 
no ! though both were in love with her and I strongly re- 


186 


THE r A INI I L T DOOM. 


commended each in turn, she would have no one but me ; 
and now she has left me a son as set in his ways as ever 
she was in hers. Now I wanted Harry to fall in love with 
niy bright little Halcjmne. She’s as pretty as a picture, 
and always right under his eyes, too, and no difficulty at all 
in the way, and no reason in the world for his not loving 
her ; no, nor excuse either for not doing it. But I’m blest if 
the jTellow ever seems to see that the girl is good looking, 
and be blamed to him. And then I know it would be per- 
fectly useless, and worse than useless for me to say a word 
to him in her favor. It would be like — I hardlj'' know what 
it would be like to try to make a boy take one girl when his 
heart is set upon another. It would be worse than sicken- 
ing a man with sweetmeats when his very soul craves 
pickled peppers. Well, I think I’ll turn in, though I don’t 
suppose I’ll get a wink of sleep with all this. What the 
deuce ever tempted me to make a fool and a father of my- 
self at the same time? As if, being already a sailor and a 
skipper, I hadn’t bother enough with the ship and the sea ? 
And a grown up son in love is a hundred times harder 
thing to manage than a ship in a storm.” 

And so, grumbling, the old man went to bed, and growled 
himself to sleep, and had the night-mare, in which the 
hearty supper he had eaten took the form of a bishop in 
full canonicals squatting cross-legged upon his chest, with 
the prayer-book opened upside down at the marriage service 
in his hand. 

The captain’s bedroom was immediately behind the best 
spare room, occupied by Vane Vandeleur, and both were on 
the right hand of the broad passage that ran from front to 
back on this story. On the opposite side, the large front 
room was occupied by Mr. Dickson Storms, and the back 
room by Harry. 

The large garret overhead divided, also, into four rooms 
and a hall, was tenanted by Halcyone McAlpine, Pinky 
Skinner, and the TIail Maries. 


THE captain’s REST BROKEN. 187 


"Miss Skinner had an idea that it was not convenient in a 
bachelors’ and widowers’ establisliment for the women to 
sleep on the same floor as the men, and her ideas were law 
in that household. 

"Indeed!” she exclaimed, in defence of this opicbn, 
"we often want to go from one room to another in oiir 
night-gowns, and just suppose we were down on that floor 
and should meet one of them !” 

"Well, Miss Pinky,” Halcyone answered, "I like it 
ver}" well myself. It is very cheerful up here, and has a 
splendid look-out. Wh}^, I can see Henniker’s point from 
my end-window, and it’s full ten miles up the coast. But 
you must confess. Miss Pinky, that we are fearfully near 
the chimney-top, and I never can enjoy a good roaring fire 
without a dream of the roof catching from the sparks that 
fly up. And just suppose it was to catch some windy 
flight ! ” 

" The house has stood here ever since Leonard Calvert 
landed in St. Mary’s, over two hundred years ago, and ” 

" Oh, Pinky I how many times has it been rebuilt since 
that ? Why^ ” 

" I don’t care how many times ! It was never destroyed 
by fire yet as I know of, as many thousand fires as has been 
built in it, in windy weather and all sorts of weather.” 

"That doesn’t make it any safer;” said Halcyone, with 
a shrug of her shoulders. 

Such little disputes as these took place on every, or 
almost every cold and windy night, when the state of the 
weather rendered a large fire equally necessary and danger- 
ous. And on this particular night, the weather was in- 
tensely cold, and the wind furiously high. 

There were enormous wood-fires burning in every room 
in the house ; and of course there was a great fire in Hal- 
cyone’s room. It blazed and roared up the chimney, and 
snapped and sparkled, sometimes shooting out a burning 


188 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


coal like a bullet on the bare floor, and sometimes sending a 
shower of sparks upward. The floor was scarred all over 
with little black charred spots where these coals had fallen 
and burned out, when nobody was by to sweep them up. 
And nothing saved the place from taking fire but the 
hardness of the planks. Halcyone was wont to declare 
that these shooting coals would consume her in her own 
room some day, or night. 

Her room ! It was always a sight to behold. It was 
large and bare, with a roof sloping to the front, and in this 
roof two deep dormer windows looking out upon the bay. 
Opposite these windows, in the solid partition wall, was the 
large chimney and fire-place. On the right h-and of this 
fire-place was Halcjmne’s bed, and on the left, was a door 
leading into Pinky Skinner’s room. In the half gable end 
was one large straight window looking out northward up 
the bay. Opposite this was the door leading into the pas- 
sage. The furniture of this room was scant as possible. 
There was just the clean, plain bed, covered with its 
country-woven woollen counterpane, and there was an old 
worm eaten black walnut chest of drawers, with a dim mil- 
dewed oval looking-glass above it, standing in one of the 
deep window recesses, and a pine wash-stand in the other ; 
a large cedar-wood sea-chest in one corner, a hair trunk in 
another, and three old chip-bottomed chairs set about any- 
where. Some of the panes were out of the window-sashes, 
letting in rain, wind, snow, or anj^ other sort of weather 
that wished to come. The plastering was also fallen in sev- 
eral places, and the floor, as I said, was covered with burnt 
spots. 

Upon the whole this was not a model bower of beauty. 

The old captain, who made a good deal of money and 
spent it very freelj", never seemed to think of repairing and 
refitting his house. He lavished all sorts of costly pres- 
ents on Halc^'one, but never once thought of mending and 
furnishing her chamber. 


THE captain’s REST BROKEN. 189 

111 passing up Broadway, or an}? otlier gay street of any 
other seaport where his vessel might be lying, he would 
stare in at the shop windows and enter and purchase any 
portable article of dress or jewelry that happened to take 
his fancy, or that he thought would take hers ; but he 
never dreamed of buying a comfortable carpet or set of cur- 
tains, or anything of the sort. 

So there was this discrepancy in the little beauty’s sur- 
roundings, that while she possessed jewelrj’' and a wardrobe 
befitting an heiress, she was lodged like a pauper. 

But slie never thought of this any more than did her 
eccentric guardian. She loved her room and would have 
been quite content with it, but for those great alarming 
fires. 

The blazing and crackling fire was the first thing that 
attracted her attention this evening as she entered her 
chamber with her new riding-dress on her arm and her new 
hat on her head. 

“ See here. Pinky ! ” she said to Miss Skinner who was 
at her heels, see here, if that girl Ailie hasn’t piled the 
logs from the edge of the hearth quite up to the top of the 
fire-place ! What ails you Ailie, to do such mad things ? ” 
she demanded of the maid wlio was standing roasting her- 
self before the blaze to her own satisfaction. 

’Deed, Miss Hah, so cold ! ” said the girl in self- 
defence. 

“ So cold ! and so you set the house on fire, almost, to 
warm us ! The one extreme is no end worse than the 
other ! It is a world’s wonder we are not burned out every 
night of our lives ! ” exclaimed Halcyone as she went 
about kicking the large sparks and small coals from the 
floor, where they were smouldering, to the hearth where 
they could do no harm. 

Burned out every night of our lives!’ As if we could 
be burned out every night of our lives ? I wish you would 


190 


T il E FAMILY DOOM. 


talk sense, Halcyone ! ” said Miss Skinner, screwing up her 
nose and lips. 

‘‘But look at the danger! Suppose these logs were to 
roll down on the floor, or burn in two and fall ! — while one 
is absent or asleep for instance! — Ugh! Hoo! It makes 
my hair bristle up to think of it ! 

“ Well, why don’t your guardian, if he is your guardian, 
think of it? Why doesn’t he bring home thick woollen 
carpets and rugs to la}" down on the floor and a high guard- 
fender to set up before the fire, instead of these gew- 
gaws ? ” 

“ Guardy brings me what he likes, and that always ‘likes 
me,’ as the old writers used to phrase it.” 

“Well, good night, I am going to bed,” said Miss Skin- 
ner, taking up her candle. 

“ Good night. Pinky ! Good night ! Heaven send you 
good rest and better temper ! ” laughed Halcyone, as Miss 
Skinner passed out. 

“ Ailie,” said Halcyone, as soon as she was alone with the 
girl, “Ailie, how came Miss Pinky to have everything 
read}" for us just as if she knew we were coming home this 
evening ? ” 

“Why, she did know as you was coming. Miss. Marse 
Pike Turner as he was coming cross country in his wagon, 
fell in long Marse Major Hourie going home in the sleigh. 
And Marse Major axed him if he was coming on here. 
And Marse Pike told him yes he was, immediate. And 
Marse Major told him to tell us as he was Marse Captain 
and you all would be home at night. And so Marse Pike, 
he brought the news same time he brought all that wenzen 
and wild meat as you had for supper. Ah, I say, Miss 
Hal. ! didn’t ole Marse Captain ’joy his wittels, neither ? ” 

“ Indeed he did, Ailie ! And now you may go to bed.” 

The Hail Maries slept in the third garret-room, while the 
fourth was devoted to the storage of rubbish and lumber — 
the mansion’s “chamber of desolation.” 


T IJ E C A r T A I ’ s E E S T BROKEN. 191 


Halcj’one wished to be alone, and when she found herself 
so, she took off her dress and put on her new and elegant 
riding habit, and set the jaunty little hat and feather on her 
head, and paraded up and down the room surveying the 
effect. 

“ Oh, how pretty, how stylish, how graceful this is ! I 
never wore anything so becoming in my life! I never 
looked so well ! If he could only see me in this now ! I 
wonder what he would think ? But bosh ! he has eyes 
only for that — that pale, dark-ej^ed beauty of Henniker I 
And I’m sure I don’t care a snap what he thinks or where 
his eyes go! not I, indeed! not that she cares for him 
either, or ever will ! He needn’t hope for it ! She has 
ej'es onl}’- for this stranger ! Ah, well-a-day ! I wish I was 
comfortably hanged ! No, I don’t ! I wish she was ! This 
is a beautiful rig out ! I’ll go and see how it looks in the 
glass ! ” 

And so saying Halcyone took her tallow- candle and set 
it on the chest of drawers, and contemplated her image in 
the old oval mirror. 

Beflected from that glass, she had no right to think her- 
self a beauty ; for it was dimmed by time, mouldered by 
damp, and cracked by chance ; and it showed her onl}^ a 
fright in a riding dress — a girl with a crooked face and a 
green complexion. 

Nevertheless, Halcyone made allowances for its faults^ 
and seemed very well satisfied with herself. She pulled 
open her upper draw'er, and took from it a fiery carbuncle 
brooch which she fastened in her collar, and a costly ruby 
pin which she stuck in her hat where the stem of the feather 
joined it. And she pranced about in her girlish levity a 
little longer, and then with a sigh that almost confessed the 
vanity and worthlessness of all these things, and their 
powerlessness to affect her happiness, she undressed herself, 
said her praj'ers, and went to bed. 


192 


THE FAMILY D 0 O M • 


CHAPTER XIV. 

COUNTRY SPORTS. 

Boon as the rising sun drives off the night 
And edges eastern clouds with rosy light, 

The hearty sportsman, with the merry horn. 

Summons the dogs and greets the dappled morn. — O at; 

Halcyone was awakened by a “hiisli,’’ and a stir, and 
a whispering in her room. The rising sun, sliining in at 
her front windows, showed her the figures of the two maids 
in the act of cautiously rolling up and dragging away their 
pallet. 

“ Who is that ? What are you doing there ? she de- 
manded, half rising on her elbow. 

“ Oh, Miss Hal. — ^you ’wake ? ” exclaimed Ailie, in dis- 
may. 

Yes ; 3*ou ’woke me. What are ^mu doing there ? ” 

Oh, Miss Hah, please excuse me — but, ’deed, it was so 
cold, last night, me and Mary felt like we was going to 
freeze. So, after you was gone to sleep, us brought our 
pallet in here and laid it down before your big fire. And 
we was a-trying to get it out again, this morning, ’dout 
’waking you up.” 

“ You h^'pocrites ! but why didn’t you have a fire of 
your own ? ” laughed Halcyone. 

“ Oh, Miss Hal., so much trouble ! ” 

‘‘That’s it. You never will do a thing for yourselves, it 
you can help it. But wliy should you have been so sly and 
secret about coming into my room to sleep. You were per- 
fectly w'elcome to have done it.” 

I “ Yes ; but we did not know tliat Miss Hal. We didn’t 
^ know but what you might think as how three was too many 
to sleep in one room.” 

“ Three too many ! why this big chamber, with its loose 


COUNTRY SPORTS. 


193 


window sashes and open chimney, has air enough in it for a 
dozen. You can sleep here whenever j^ou like — it don k 
make any difference to me, only don’t be deceitful about it. 
"Now rake up the coals and throw some more logs on the 
fire, and then go, or Miss Skinner will be after you with a 
sharp stick,” said Halcyone. 

And her advice was not given a moment too soon, for the 
girls had scarcely mended the fire and swept the hearth be- 
fore the voice of Miss Pinky was heard at the door. 

“ Halcyone, are those lazy jades in there ? ” 

Yes, Miss Pinky; come in,” answered Hal. 

And the}'- slept here all night — and I don’t believe it is 
the first time either!” exclaimed Miss Skinner, as she en- 
tered the room and saw the pallet. 

This is the first time they ever slept here to my knowl- 
edge, Miss Pinky, and they were quite welcome,” said Hal. 

Quite welcome — to lay there before the fire in your 
bedroom, roasting, and sweating, and steaming, and smelling 
—it’s a wonder it doesn’t give you the ship-fever I ” 

Miss Pinky, as I was just telling the girls — there is 
OX3’^gen enough in this room for an army.” 

I don’t know what 3^11 mean by - 0 X 671 in the room, and 
I don’t believe you do neither ; but I know you’d as well 
liave a drove of oxen penned here in your bedroom as 
them two niggers. Now get along with 3’-ou down stairs 
and set the table for breakfast, 3*011 idle huzzies ! ” ex- 
claimed Miss Skinner, leaving the room and driving her 
subordinates before her. 

Oh, dear me I ” cried Halcjmne, as she sprang out of 
bed and bolted the door to prevent the return of the un- 
welcome intruder, that woman’s nerves must be all briars 
and her blood all vitriol, to give her such a temper as she 
has got ! I do wish that old hunter. Pike Turner, would 
marry her and carr}^ her off to the backwoods, to live with 
the bears and wolves — maybe they could stand her.” 

12 


194 


THE FAMILY () O M . 


And witli tins fervent aspiration, by way of a morning 
prayer, Haleyone began to dress herself. 

At that very hour Yane Yandeleiir was rudely aroused 
from his dream of widows and weddings bj" a thundering 
Rat-tat-tat-tat ! at his door, and the stentorian voice of 
the old captain, shouting : 

“ Yandeleur — are 3^11 awahe ? Get up quick. The 
shore below here is all alive with wild ducks — they are as 
thick as fleas in a town tenement house. You can see them 
from the' windows — open ! open, I say.” 

Rat-at-at-at-at-TAT ! 

Startled, bewildered, alarmed, and only half awake, Yan- 
deleur sprang out of bed, and staggered blindly to the door 
and opened it. 

There stood Captain Storms, in full sporting rig — shoot- 
ing-jacket, gaiters, game-bag, powder-flask, shot-horn, and 
fowling-piece. 

Before Yandeleur could greet his early visitor, the cap- 
tain exclaimed : 

‘‘Come ; hurry — there’s no time to lose ; they may all be 
off in another hour. Make haste. I’ll v/ait for you ten 
minutes, if you can get on your clothes in that time. And 
I’ll rig you out with the rest of the things when I get you 
down stairs. Come — look alive, man ; there never was 
such a morning for game. We’ll bag a dozen brace a-piece 
before breakfast, and then come back with a splendid appe- 
tite for Pinkj’’ Skinner’s muffins and venison steaks.” 

ISTow, a keener sportsman than Yane Yandeleur did not 
live. By the time the captain had bawled himself out of 
breath, Yane was wide awake, much excited and getting in- 
to his clothes as fast as ever he could. Yet he could not 
forbear to say : 

“ I thought this was ‘ Bachelor’s Hall ’ and ‘ Liberty 
Lodge,’ and I was not to be made to rise before I should be 
awake, nor to eat before I should be hungry.” 


COUNTRY s r o ii T s . 


195 


Oh, bosh ! ducks make a difference ; and you’ll be hun- 
gry enough, for that matter, by the time you have bagged 
your dozen brace,” growled the captain. 

Vandeleur acknowledged that ducks made a difference, 
and so hastily" finished his toilet, and followed the old man 
down stairs. 

There he was fitted out with game-bag, powder-flask, 
shot-horn and fowling-piece. 

Then they went out into the yard, where they found Mr. 
Dick and Master Harry, both equipped in full sporting rig, 
and with a dozen pointers and setters leaping and barking 
around them. And so they all set off for the frozen shore, 
with deadly designs against the ducks. 

“There’s Pike Turner!” exclaimed the captain, as with 
his gun over his shoulder, he trudged through the glorious 
sunshine and over frozen snow, followed by his party. The 
old sailor, accustomed to use his eyes at sea, was more far- 
sighted than hiT3 companions. 

“ Where ? ” inquired Mr. Dickson. 

“ There ! right down there on the ice ! ” answered the 
captain, as he trudged on faster than ever to join the man 
in question. 

Pike Turner was “ a mighty hunter before the Lord ” — 
none greater since the days of Nimrod. Years before this 
time he had left this neighborhood for the back-woods. A 
passion for hunting carried him out to the wilderness, 
where game abounded ; but love for the friends he had left 
behind him, frequently brought him back. 

In person, he was a tall and stalwart man, of about fifty 
years of age, with a complexion deeply bronzed by constant 
exposure to the elements, and with grizzled hair and beard 
that had never been touched by the shears or razor. From 
head to foot, he was clothed in garments made from the 
skins of wild animals, with the fur on. His cap, shaped 
not unlike a bishop’s mitre, was made of fox skin ; his coat 


196 


T H E F A I L Y DOOM. 


and trousers of bear sliin, bis boots of buffaloes bide, bis 
soft, warm mittens, of rabbit skin. With all the rudeness, 
roughness and ruggedness of the man’s aspect, there was 
one great charm about him — a pure, wholesome cleanliness. 

Pike was even said to be amphibious, and to live as much 
in the water as on the land. He owned up to taking a 
cold plunge bath every morning of his life, summer and 
winter — never hesitating to break the ice for the purpose, 
when it was necessary and practicable. 

And moreover. Pike loved Pinky Skinner. He did, in- 
deed ! It is strange, it is marvelous, it is incredible; I 
don’t expect you to believe it ; but he really did ! He had 
loved her in his jmuth, when she was a pretty, little, grace- 
ful girl, busy and helpful in her father’s cottage, and he 
loved her still, now that she was a cross-grained old crea- 
ture, keeping house for Captain Storms. 

In those first days he had found her and found some 
favor in her sight ; but her father, a very prudent man, had 
disapproved of him as a wild, roving youngster, and so he 
had been sent about his business ; and shortly after that, he 
went West, as I said. 

But when, years after, he heard that her parents were 
dead, and she (at the ripe age of thirty), was an orphan,’^ 
as he termed it, he came back from the w'ilderness, sought 
her out, and offered her the unchanged love of his honest 
heart, and the support of his strong hand. 

But he was clothed in furs from head to foot ; his skin 
was bronzed, and his hair and beard untrimmed; and so 
she told him that she would just as lief marry a gorilla, and 
she dismissed him, and took service as housekeeper at 
Stormy Point. 

Once more before he left the neighborhood, he went to 
see her, to say to her : 

I shall come back every year. Pinky, to know if you 
have changed your mind. If ever you do Pinky, you must 


COUNTRY SPORTS, 


197 


let me know, and then you will find that 1 haven’t changed 

But she sniffed at him and told him that it was not like- 
ly she should change her mind, as she seldom did such 
things. 

iSTevertheless, true to his promise, he came home every 
year to renew his proposal and receive his rejection. If any 
one ever happened to taunt him with his fidelity and fail- 
ures, he would say : 

‘‘ Do you know the story of Beauty and the Beast ? The 
Beast asked Beauty to marry him a great many times and 
was refused a great many times ; but he won her consent 
at last ! And so will this Beast win his Beauty, sooner or 
later.” 

At this his taunters would laugh louder than ever. He 
with his untrimraed hair and beard and his suit of furs, 
might look sufficiently like a beast ; but the idea of calling 
Pinky Skinner a beauty ! 

He loved her ; that made all tlie difference. Her nose 
and her temper had both grown sharp with 3 ^ears ; hut she 
was the unchanged in his eyes. She might he other people’s 
fright, but she was his beauty. She even might be other 
people’s devil, but she was his angel. All her faults were 
merits in his sight. Her captious fault-finding was sensi- 
ble, sincere rebuke, her sneers were witticisms, her bad tem- 
per was piquant spirit. And besides turning all her vices 
into virtues, he found out and adored her one pre-eminently 
good quality. 

Pinky’s enemies may say what thej^ like of her, but 
the worst of them will not say that she is deceitful. Pinky 
is not one tiling before your face and another behind your 
back. Pinky is sincere,” he would insist. 

And he spoke truth. Miss Skinner was sincere— that is 
to sa}', she was sincerely ill-natured and liked to prove it. 
But Pike loved her — not with any very vehement passion, 


198 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


else perhaps he might have conformed himself to her tastes, 
and by that means won her favor ; but with a very con- 
stant attacliment. He loved her because, having once 
given her his affections, he could not take them back again. 
It was not in his nature to change. Thus he could not give 
up his roving hunter^s life, even for Miss Pinky’s sake ; nor 
could he give up her. He was faithful in all his friend- 
ships; constant to his one love; honest in every act ; truth- 
ful in every word; brave, kind and patient. Such was Pike 
Turner, the back\voodsman. 

And while I have been describing him to you, old Cap- 
tain Storms has been gaining on him rapidly ; and now he 
has come up with him. 

How are you. Pike ? Glad to see you ! When did you 
get in ! ” heartily inquired the captain. 

‘‘ Two days ago. How do you do yourself. Captain ? ” 
said the hunter, turning to greet his old friend. 

Meantime the other men came up and cordially saluted 
the backwoodsman. 

“ How do you do, Mr. Hickson ? Not married yet, eh, 
Master Harry ? So much the better. You can afford to 
wait at your age. Come go West with me and see some 
life before you settle down,” said the hunter, addressing 
himself to Captain Storms’ son and heir, after having 
shaken hands right and left. 

‘‘That’s what I want him to do I I wish you would take 
him with you, Pike,” put in the captain. 

“ I’ll do it with the greatest pleasure in life if he’ll go,” 
smiled the hunter, turning to Harry. 

“ Thank jmu,” answered the young man, but he did not 
farther commit himself. 

“ And now you must know my friend — Mr. Yandeleur — 
Mr. Turner.” 

“ Glad to make your acquaintance, stranger,” said the 
backwoodsman, grasping Vane’s hand with a grip that made 
him wince'. 


C O r T R y SPORTS. 


199 


And now let’s go look after the ducks,” said the captain, 
impatiently. 

And they all started to walk down along the shore. 

‘‘By the way, where are you stopping, Pike?” inquired 
Captain Storms, as they went along. 

“ Why I stopped first at the priest’s house, yonder away 
until the snow-storm was over, and then I started to go as 
far as old Mr. Basil Wall’s, to take him some buffalo meat ; 
but after I had stopped at your house to leave a message 
from Major Hourie, I found it was too late to go much far- 
ther on, so I just camped out in your woods, back 3mnder.” 

This took the old man’s breath quite away. It was a 
minute before he could speak — and then it was with a gasp I 

“ Camped out in the woods last night!” 

“ Yes ; what of it ? ” coolly inquired the hunter. 

“ In such weather as this ?” 

“ Yes — what odds ? ” 

“ And my house so near, and you welcome to the best 
ehamber and the best bed in it ? ” exclaimed the old man, 
in astonishment, indignation and disgust. 

“Now look here, Captain, what’s all the row about? It 
wasn’t the first night I ever camped out b^’ many hun- 
dreds,” laughed the hunter. 

“ But by the soul of my father, sir ! it was the first night 
you ever did it in sight of my house ! ” wrathfullj'- exclaimed 
the old man. 

“ But, Captain ” 

“ How came j’ou to do it, sir ? How came jmu to do it, 
sir? that is what I want to know. Did you find a case of 
small-pox or cholera in my house that j’ou should have run 
away from it ? ” 

“Let me explain. Captain. You were not at home; none 
ofj’our familj’^ were at home. And notwithstanding Major 
Hourie’s message, when it grew late, I thought it very 
doubtful whether 3^011 would be at home. And so 


200 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


Heaven and earth ! sir, the house was there if I wasn^t^ 
broke in the captain. 

Yes, the house was there ; hut it was in charge of Miss 
Skinner, and it would have been hardly the tiling you know 
for her to invite a man to stay all night in the absence of 
the family.” 

There ! Blessed if I mightn’t have known that blamed 
old prnde was at the bottom of it all. So she never asked 
you to stop ? ” 

“ No, and she was right in not doing so. I beg you will 
not blame her. She is a woman of great fidelity of char- 
acter and propriety of conduct.” 

Hang her fidelity and propriety ! I would a great deal 
rather she had a very little common sense and good nature. 
And you, how did you manage, eh ? ” 

‘‘ I started, as I told you, to go on to old Mr. Basil 
Wall’s ; but when I had got as far as your big piece of 
woods, the beasts were so tired and the roads so bad, that I 
just stopped and took them out, and brought them back to 
3’^our stables, and put them up for the night. And then I 
went back to my wagon and made mj^self a bed of bnflalo 
robes and blankets, and slept as comfortably as ever I shpt 
in my life till this morning, when I got up and came down 
here to have a crack at the ducks.” 

Well, I’m blest if ever I felt more like challenging a 
man to fight a duel in all mj’’ days, as I do now. Yes, and 
I would challenge you too, if I didn’t know it was that 
Pinky Skinner’s doings. — You’ll go back to breakfast with 
us ? ” 

Of course. Captain. Anj’^thing for peace,” assented 
the hunter with a smile. 

And then as a flock of wild geese unexpectedly rose on 
the wing, everj^ fowling-piece was raised, aimed, and fired, 
and all e^’es and hearts were fixed upon the sport. 

Meanwhile Pinky Skinner was fated to have a just cause 


COUNTRY SPORTS. 


201 


for grumbling that morning — a real undeniable grievance. 
She had to wait breakfast for a long time. 

She waited and waited and waited. 

The kettle had been boiling for hours, and had been 
filled up again and again ; but the coffee was not made be- 
cause it would spoil by standing. The venison steaks were 
cut, and the gridiron polished to receive them ; but they 
could not be dressed yet, because they ought to be eaten as 
soon as taken from the fire. The batter was mixed for the 
muffins ; and the muffin-rings and tlie oven waiting for 
them 5 but the^^ could not be baked because they would not 
improve by keeping. Oysters were shucked, and the stew- 
pan ready j but for similar reasons they could not be 
cooked. 

And Pinky Skinner stood and fumed and fretted over the 
kitchen fire, while Halcyome sat at the window, gazing down 
towards the shore, and watching to give the signal, on the 
first sign of the delinquent master’s return. 

But as I said, they had to wait a long time until, as Miss 
Pinky herself expressed it, her nerves were “fretted to 
fiddle strings.” 

At last the little girl on the lookout cried : 

“ They are coming. Pinky ! and loaded down with* game 
too ! But here comes Pike Turner with them ! ” 

“ Oh ! they are coming at last, are they ? Well, they 
deserve to have to wait as long as they have made us wait,” 
exclaimed Miss Skinner; but for all she said, she set her 
maids to work in a great hurr3\ Into the pot went the 
ground coftee and beaten egg. Down to the fire went the 
muffins, the steaks and the oysters. 

“Now hurry, jmu slow-poking creatures, so as to have 
ever^^thing cooked to a turn, to be put on the table, the 
minute they get in, for they’ll be as hungry as wolves. 
And Mary, you put on a clean apron to wait on table ; and 
Ailie, you are to stay here to keep up the fire, and send in 


202 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


relays of hot steaks and muffins and oysters as they are 
called for. — ^l!Tot that they deserve it, the selilsh brutes! 
keeping people waiting till this hour of the morning for 
their breakfasts, while they’re down on the shore, popping 
avN^ay like a a parcel of schoolboys, at the ducks. If I don’t 
give them a piece of my mind when they come, my name’s 
not Pinky Skinner.” 

Oh, Pinkj^, don’t please ! It’s only ten o’clock, and 
you’ve got such a good breakfast for them ” 

“ I got it for my own credit’s sake, not for them ! ” snap- 
ped Miss Skinner. 

Well, then, it is such a good breakfast, and it will do 
you so much credit, and the}- will be so hungry and will 
enjoy it so much, and thank you so much, too, if only you 
won’t scold them ; but if you begin to scold. Pinky, the 
tongue-lashing will put them all so much out of their 
senses, they’ll not know whether they’re eating hot venison 
steak or cold scrag of mutton ! ” pleaded Halcyone. 

This last argument was the most powerful Halcyone 
could have used. Miss Skinner liked to have her table lux- 
uries appreciated, and so, though she tossed her head at 
Halcyone and said : 

“ Oh, yes 1 you would lay down and let people walk right 
over you, but you don’t catch me doing it ! ” 

Nevertheless, she remitted the tongue-lashing, and even 
met the returning sportsmen with something like civilit3^ 

There, Pinky !” said the captain, striding right into the 
kitchen, and throwing down a brace of birds as white and 
almost as big as condors, there ! we got even more than 
we went after ! we went after ducks and got them, and wild 
geese besides ! ” 

Before Pinky could make up her mind whether to sniff or 
to smile, the other sportsmen had followed the captain into 
the kitchen and thrown down their game, all tog?!ther in a 
heap. 

What a little mountain it was ! 


COUNTRY SPORTS. 203 

‘‘There, Pinky!” said the captain triumphantly; “ what 
do you think of that ?” 

“ Think ! I tliink it is a sin and a shame to slaughter so 
many of the Lord’s creatures for nothing ! There isn’t less 
than fifty brace of birds there ! They’ll spoil before you 
can eat a quarter of them ! ” exclaimed Miss Skinner. 

“Spoil!” repeated the captain, looking around appeal- 
ingly upon his friends. “ Spoil ! hear her ! why they’ll keep 
forever in such weather as this ! All we have to do is to 
hang them up in an out-house ! And for the matter of that 
I can send a few braces over to Basil Wall’s, and perhaps 
also I may have a chance to send some over to the priests 
and to Major Hourie’s and also to Widovvville.” 

“ Oh, yes ! to your widows^ of course ! if it was the very 
last mouthful out of the house it would go to them, I sup- 
pose ! ” snifted Miss Skinner. 

“Now, Pinky ! you were just complaining that the game 
would spoil, and when I propose a way to keep it from 
spoiling, you object.” 

“ I object ! Indeed you might give it all to your widows, 
and give yourself into the bargain for me ! ” exclaimed Miss 
Skinner, with a very superlative sneer. 

“ Come friends ! let us go into the parlor,” said the cap- 
tain. And he left the room, followed bj his party, not ono 
of whom Miss Skinner had deigned to notice. Pike had 
greeted her ; but she had not even seemed to see him. 

Nevertheless when breakfast was carried in, and she went 
to take her place at the head of the table, mindful of Hal- 
cyone’s advice, she grew more gracious and forbearing, lest 
b}'- driving her victims crazy she should deprive them of the 
power of appreciating her skillful cooking. The poor fol- 
lows w'ere allowed to eat their breakfast in peace. 

Afterwards, Pike Turner harnessed up his team, and 
charged with a kind message and a half-dozen brace of 
water fowl, took his leave and started for old Mr. Basil 
AValFs farm. 


204 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


Captain Storms, bidding Vane Vandeleur to make him- 
self at home, and amuse himself as well as he could, went with 
Harry and Mr. Dickson to attend to some business connect- 
ed with tlie estate, that required the presence of the three. 

Halcyone and Miss Skinner were away in some of the 
upper chambers, minding household matters. 

Vane, wandering at pleasure through the half furnished 
lower rooms, came at length to the bare, disused old draw- 
ing room. 

In one recess, near the chimney, stood an old book-ease, 
with a few dilapidated copies of the English poets and dra- 
matists. 

Vane selected a volume of Shakespeare, and returned to 
the parlor, where he sat and read until dinner — when the 
faTnily re-assembled. 

After dinner the gentlemen sat around the tire, smoking 
and listening to the old sailor’s sea-yarns until tea was 
brought in. And then they made up a rubber at wdiist, and 
played until bed-time. And so passed Vane’s first day at 
Stormy Point. 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE STRAW RIDE. 


Boys and sirls, come out to play I 
Come out to play ! Come out to play I 
Boys aud girls come out to play! 

The moon shines bright, as bright as day !— Kustio Sono. 


Come ! ” heartily exclaimed Old Storms to his guest, as 
they arose from the breakfast-table the next morning. 

Come I let’s take our guns and dogs, and go into the 
woods to see what we can start up. Vandeleur ! Dick 1 
Harry ! What do you say ? ” 


THE STRAW RIDE. 


205 


All eagerly agreed to the proposed expedition. 

And, Miss Pinky, as we don’t want to hurry home, nor 
yet to put you to any inconvenience, you needn’t have din- 
ner till about four o’clock,” he added, turning to his house- 
keeper. 

The good-natured provision was lost upon Miss Skinner. 

“ Indeed ! ” she answered, with a very supreme sniff, “ I 
shall have dinner at the usual hour. And them that’s 
home in time may eat it, and them that ain’t may go with- 
out. I’m not agoing to have my rules broken through, and 
the servants upset, for tlie. sake of all the wild vermints 
youHl bring home. 

Old Tom cast an appealing glance at his guests, but ven- 
tured no reply. The old sea-lion, who was so accustomed to 
roar the sea down, and curse his crew out of their senses, 
was as meek as a mouse before Miss Skinner. 

“ To say nothing,” she went on, “ of its being a piece 
of malignant wickedness and cruelty to kill more creatures, 
when you’ve got ten times as many corpses now as you can 
eat.” 

Eat corpses ! U m-m-me ! ” groaned the captain. 

And what is more ” she continued. 

But old Tom did not stop to hear what was more. Ho 
hurried out into the hall and began to equip himself for his 
expedition. 

The whole part}*^ went into the woods as arranged. They 
beat about with their dogs and guns nearly all day. 

“ It’s no use to hurry home even at four o’clock if we 
can’t get any dinner. Better content ourselves with the 
little lunch we’ve brought, and take our satisfaction in stay- 
ing out till sunset, so as to get home at supper time, when 
it is to be prayed that Pinky will give us something to eat,” 
reflected the captain, and all his party agreed with him. 

They killed half a dozen hares, about as many part- 
ridges, some coons and one opossum — the last-mentioned 

varmint ” being the victim of old Tom’s gun. 


206 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


They returned home in the twilight. 

I thought you said jmu w'ould be back at four o’clock/^ 
was Miss Pinky’s snappish greeting. 

And so we should have been ; but you said you wouldn’t 
have dinner ready at that hour,” apologized the captain, as 
he threw down his game and tossed olf his hat. 

‘^But I did have dinner ready for you at that very hour. 
And when people say they are coming home at a certain 
time, the}’- ought to come.” 

Captain Storms might have retorted : 

“ And when people say they won’t have dinner ready at 
a certain hour, they oughn’t to have it.” But the old man 
never ventured to retort upon his housekeeper, even when 
he was in the right. On this occasion he nudged Vande- 
leur’s side, and whispered : 

“ You see her bark w'as worse than her bite, as it almost 
always is.” 

But Captain Storms was wTong. Miss Skinner’s hark 
and bite were equally bad — only the one never followed the 
other. If she barked, as in this instance, she spent her ill- 
humor in this* way, and never bit. When she did bite, it 
was very severely, and without the forewarning bark. On 
this occasion, having blown her employer up before he went 
away, she had the best dinner she knew how to get, ready 
for him at his own hour, and waiting warm for him still. 

He and his friends dined sumptuously, and had coffee 
immediately after. Miss Skinner deigned to be in a good 
humor. And little Halcyone was delightful. 

That evening they were all sitting around the fire. 
Captain Storms was telling one of his inexhaustible stock 
of sea stories ; and Dick, Harry, and Vane were idly listen- 
ing. Halcyone was busily embroidering a pair of slippers ; 
Miss Pinky knitting; and the Hail Maries, seated on low 
stools at a respectful distance, were cutting cotton-yarn into 
lengths for the wicks of dip-candles. 


THE STRAW RIDE. 


207 


Miss Pinky, with her hand-maids,. had joined the parlor 
circle — not so much for love as for econom}’’ in light ; for 
though candles cost nothing else, being of home manufac- 
ture, they cost some trouble, which Miss Skinner W’as will- 
ing to save. 

As for the master of the house, he always encouraged 
them to come, because in his patriarchal character and 
affectionate nature he liked to have his whole household 
about him in the evening. 

Vane was just in the act of suppressing a yawn over the 
captain’s story, which he had heard once before, while fur- 
tively glancing through the bare window out upon the daz- 
zling plains of snow, now lighted up by the rising moon^ 
and thinking how quiet — to say the least of them — were 
these winter evenings in the country compared to the winter 
evenings in town, and how improbable, not to say impossi- 
ble, it was that there should be any chance visitor, unless it 
might be some benighted traveller, when 

The merry sound of mau}^ bells struck upon his ear, and 
a great, dashing sleigh, crowded with people, flashed into 
view. 

“ A surprise-party, by all that’s jolly ! ” joyously exclaim- 
ed the captain, starting up and rushing out to open the 
front door. 

He was met by a crowd of young men and young girls 
pouring into the hall, laugiiing, talking, jesting, and alto- 
gether beside themselves with glee. 

“ Ho, Fulvia ! Hey, Flavia ! How do, Jim ? Good eve- 
ning, Bob ! Welcome, every one of you ! A hundred 
thousand welcomes, jmu rogues ! Throw off 3^our wrap- 
pings, and come to the fire. We’ll have the room cleared 
in a trice for dancing — for I see you have the fiddlers with 
you, and we’ll dance while supper’s getting read}^” cried 
the captain, shaking hands right and left with all the boys, 
ftnd wanting to kiss all the girls. 


208 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


I wonH get supper for them to-nightf muttered Miss 
Pinky, in a tone “ not loud, but deep.” 

“ No, no. Captain ; we didn’t come to stop here^ this 
time ; we only came to pick you all up, and take you along, ’ 
laughed the lovely brunette whom the old man had called 
Pulvia, as they all poured into the parlor. 

Vane Vandeleur rose respectfully, while Mr. Dick, Master 
Harry, and Halcyone started up and rushed forward to wel- 
come them. 

They shook hands, and kissed, and crowded around the 
fire— Miss Skinner and the Hail Maries scudding away to 
make room for them. 

No, no ; we can’t sit down — we can’t, indeed ; we 
haven’t time. We’ll stand here, and warm ourselves until 
you all get ready,” exclaimed the fair blonde, whom the 
captain had called Flavia, — “ Who is that ver}' handsome 
stranger, Halcyone ? ” she inquired in a lowered tone. 

‘‘I will introduce him,” replied Hal. 

Then, turning to Vane, who still stood respectfully wait- 
ing to be presented, she said : 

“ Mr- Vandeleur, let me make you acquainted with Miss 
Plavia Wall.” 

Vane bowed low before the pretty blonde, who curtsied 
gracefully. 

‘‘Miss Fulvia Wall,” added Halcyone, presenting him in 
turn to the other sister. 

And Vane bowed still lower before the beautiful brunette, 
who bent her graceful little head in acknowledgment. 

Then Halcjmne introduced him, in succession, to about a 
dozen more young ladies and as many young gentlemen who 
formed the party. 

“ Come, now — hurry and get ready ; you have not a mo- 
ment to spare,” urged dark-eyed Fulvia. 

“You will join your friends in our straw-ride, we hope, 
Mr. Vandeleur ? ” smiled blue-eyed Flavia. 


THE STRAW RIDE. 


209 


Vane bowed his thanks, but was hesitating as to the pro- 
priety of accepting the invitation that lie reflected might 
liave been given as a mere matter of form, when Tlavia 
pleasant! 3” repeated her question, which was eagerly chorused 
by at least twenty voices. And Vane bowed again and 
answered : 

“ With great pleasure.” 

And how is your uncle, my darling ? ” inquired the 
captain, as he stretched out his great arms in struggling 
into his overcoat. 

Oh, just as well and hai)p3' as ever he can be ! ” answered 
the twin sisters, speaking together. 

‘‘Hear that! And he ninet3'-nine years old! Yes, 
gentlemen and ladies, if Mr. Basil Wall should be spared 
to us a few months longer, as Heaven grant he ma}", he will 
complete his centur3^ Think of that ! Wh3’' I feel quite a 

youth when I look at him ! ” exclaimed the captain in de- 
light. He spoke trul3% It did make him feel young to see 
how well and happy that aged Christian patriarch could be 
at ninet3''-nine ! 

“ Who did 3"ou leave with him, my beauties, for I know 
you didn’t leave him alone with the servants ? ” 

“We left Pike Turner, bless his dear old soul ; he volun- 
teered to stay, like a duck, and a dove, and an angel as he 
is. And we left him and uncle happ3’ in opposite chimney 
corners, with a smoking bowl of mulled cider on the table 
between them. Uncle never drinks an3Thing stronger than 
cider, 3'ou know. Captain,” said Fulvia. 

“ Ah, no ; I know he doesn’t ; and that, perhaps, is the 
reason of his health and longevity,” sighed the captain, 
with a compunctious retrospection of his own man}’- rum- 
punches and gin-toddies. 

While this talk was going on, Halc3’one had tripped 
away to prepare herself for her ride ; and her example had 
been followed b}’ Vane, Dick and Hariy. But while Hal- 
13 * 


210 


T H E FAMILY DOOM. 


cyone had to go avvaj^ up to the garret for lier wraps, the 
men went no further than the row of pegs in tlie liall. So 
they were now all read}^ and waiting for Hal. She quickly 
joined them. 

Miss Pinky Skinner had been pressed to make one of the 
party’’, but had declined the pleasure, prophecying pleurisies 
and pneumonias and diptherias and deaths to the whole 
concern. 

The}'- crowded into the ‘^sleigh,” if the improvised' ma- 
chine for the excui*sion could be called one. 

It was, in fact, old Mr. Basil Wall’s great freight wagon, 
whose legitimate office it was to convey hogsheads of tobacco 
from the plantation barns to the steamboat landings to be 
shipped off to market. They had taken this capacious 
vehicle off its wheels and put it upon runners.” Then 
they had filled it with clean straw, and harnessed it to four 
stout draught-horses, and crowded it with young people 
w’ell wrapped up, and started it upon a certain neighbor- 
hood frolic, known as a “ straw-ride.” 

A merry party they were, the girls wearing their plainest 
W’inter dresses, with thick blanket shawls around their 
shoulders, and soft woolen hoods on their heads, and the 
young men well encased in heavj^ overcoats and warm fur 
caps. 

“ But where are we going ? ” inquired the old captain, as 
he took his seat in the front of the sleigh between the fid- 
dler and banjo-player, and behind the driver. Where 
are we going ? ” 

You are going where we mean to carry you. You are 
to have faith in us, ” said Fulvia. 

‘‘ And ‘ go it blind,’ I suppose ! ” put in the captain. 

Exactly,” laughed Flavia. 

And the horses started, the bells rang, and the sleigh 
flew over the snow-fields in the bright moonlight. 

The sleigh flew ! fields of snow and forests of icicles fled 


THE STRAW RIDE. 


211 


away behind it ! Its course was towards the head of the 
Creek. 

Present!}" St. Eosalie’s, on its cedar-crowned hill, loomed 
in sight, and the next instant was reached. 

Don’t let us all get out here,” said Fulvia, who was the 
queen of the party — ’tis not likely that any of them will 
go, unless it is Father Bonhomme, though of course it is 
right to ask all the fathers. You go in. Captain, and try 
to get them all to come ; but anyway, make Father Bon- 
homme.” 

Captain Storms sprang out, agile as any young man, 
opened the rustic gate, ran up the little walk and knocked 
at the white door of the priests’ house. It was quickly 
opened and the captain disappeared within. 

Some minutes passed in suspense. 

^‘Father Bonhomme is getting ready to come, you may 
depend, else the captain would have been back before this. 
I wonder what o’clock it is ” said Fulvia, impatiently. 

It was a quarter to eight when we left home ; and it 
was a quarter past when we left Captain Storms’.” Let me 
try if I can at my watch,” said Flavia, driving her hand 
down under her manifold wrappings. “ It is half-past 
eight now,” she added, after consulting her time-piece. 

That is late,” said Flavia. 

Well, we’ve got the long bright moonliglit night be- 
fore us, and we don’t care, do we, girls ? ” laughed Flavia. 

“ No ! ” answered a chorus of silvery voices. 

‘‘And here comes Father Bonhomme with Captain 
Storms, sure enough ! ” exclaimed Fulvia, as the forms of 
the captain and the priest appeared at the door and came 
down the walk. 

“ I couldn’t get either of the others to come. Father 
Ignatius was too conscientious and Father Francis too mel- 
ancholy to take part in any such moonlight flitting ! 
laughed Captain Storms. 


212 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


And Father Bonhomme only comes to keep yDii all in 
order, my children !” laughed the priest, as he climbed up 
into the sleigh and shook hands, all around. 

*^Now, u’here are you going to take me? The captain 
couldn’t tell. Where are we going ? ” inquired the father, 
as he found a seat. 

Oh, that’s a secret! We have so much faith in" you, 
Father, that 3’ou must have a little bit in us and let us 
carry y^ou where we like ! ” said Fulvia. 

And again the horses started, the bells rung out merrily 
and the sleigh sped over the white ground. 

On it sped, fields of snow and forests of icicles flying 
away behind it as before. Its course was still up the 
creek. 

^‘Turn here. Uncle Peter!” exclaimed Queen Fulvia, as 
they reached a certain spot where it was deemed safe to 
cross oil the ice. The horses’ heads were pulled sharply 
around and the sleigh shot across the frozen creek in no 
time. 

Now turn down ! ” ordered Flavia. 

And again the horses’ heads were drawn quickly around 
and the sleigh flew on, its course being now down the north 
bank of the creek. 

And Vane Vandeleur’s heart stood still as the sleigh shot 
into the grounds of Henniker and drew up at the foot of 
the terrace before the house. 

* What o’clock, old witch ? ’ ” asked Fulvia of her 
sister. 

‘‘A quarter to nine,” answered Flavia. 

“ All right — we are in very good time. The ladies are 
not thinking of going to bed for an hour 3"et.” 

Is it here 3mu are going to give 3'our surprise party ? ” 
inquired Father Bonhomme. 

“ Of course it is. And we couldn’t have it in a better 
place. AVon’t we have a supper ! ” exclaimed Captain 


THE STRAW RIDE. 


213 


Storms, jumping to a conclusion and answering for every- 
body. 

Vane’s heart recovered its functions, but with a very 
accelerated action. 

It is here you are going to stop ? ” he said, half ques- 
tioningly, to the queen. 

“Not a hit of it,” laughed Eulviaj “But I must get out 
here.” 

And, before Vane or any one else could get* down to 
assist her, she sprang from the* sleigh and ran up the steps 
of the terrace leading to the house. Several of her com- 
panions followed her. All the dogs about the place hurst 
out to see what the noise was, and added to it a hundred- 
fold bj'' their vociferous barking. But when they recog- 
nised their friends, they immediately fawned upon them 
and welcomed them. 

The windows of the sitting-room were lighted up and 
the blinds left open so that our straw party could see the 
three widows sitting around their common work-table, 
before the fire, and Berenice reclining on a sofa. Eulvia 
knocked loudly ; but apparently, even before she had done 
so, theunmates had received notice of the approach of the 
visitors, for. the door was instantly opened by old Euripides, 
who stood bowung and grinning before them. 

“ How* do You Bip ? ” 

“ Lors, Miss Fulvia.” 

“Are the ladies in? — but of course they are; and, 
besides, I saw them.” 

“ Come in. Miss Fulvia — come in, young ladies and 
gentlemen,” said Euripides, holding wide the front door. 

But he opened the drawing-room door, and ushered the 
crowd in there, saying ; 

“ I will go and tell the ladies.” 

“Never mind. You Bip! I will go myself; or rather I 
will go with 3^11,” exclaimed Fulvia, unceremoniously run- 
ning across the hall and entering the widow’s sanctum. 


214 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


All the ladies around the work-table started up to wel- 
come her, shaking her hand, and expressing their surprise 
«ind pleasure at the ;i^isit. 

Even pale Berenice arose from the sofa and received her 
with a smile and a kiss, and an attempt to remove her 
hood. 

^•'No, indeed, I thank you ! T havn’t time to stop ! It^s 
a straw ride ! Come, get ready all of you, and go with us ! 
Come, Madam Journey ! Come, Mrs. Dering and Mamma 
Brooke ! Get ready, all of you ! and you, Berenice, hurry ! ” 
she exclaimed. 

The ladies taken by surprise could say neither yes nor no 
at first. Madam Journey at length opened her mouth. 
Where are you going ? she asked. 

Alwaj^’s the same ! Everybody wants to know that ! 
We are going to astonish one of our neighbors, that’s all ! ” 
I think you must liave astonished more than one 
already" ! Who is with you ? ” inquired Madam Journey. 

Eulvia rapidly went over the names of her company. 

“Ah ha! and so that young stranger, Vandeieur, is of 
the company?” said Madam Journey glancing uneasil}’’ 
towards Berenice, whose cheek was flushing and paling 
rapidly. 

“ Yes ! Isn’t he handsome, and graceful, and so fascinat- 
ing? Who is he? We found him at Stormy Point with 
the captain, and so we invited him ! We couldn’t make a 
bridge over his nose you know ! ” 

“Of course not; you were right in asking him.” 

“ But who is he ? ” 

“ I know no more than you may have already heard. He 
is Mr. Vandeieur, and was a passenger on the Carrier, that’s 
all.” 

“ Oh, but hurry, all you who are going with us ! Here 
we stand gossiping while time is flying,” impatiently 
exclaimed Eulvia. 


THE STRAW RIDE. 216 

** Would you like to go, Berry, my dear ? ” inquired the 
old lady, turning to her pet. 

Mamma ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Dering in rebuke. 

Grandma ! ” at the same moment murmured Mrs, 
Brooke in uneasiness. 

My dears, I know what I am about. Berry, darling, 
would you like to go ? ” persisted the old lady. 

Berry’s color was coming and going, her bosom rising 
and falling in great agitation, her voice trembling and sink- 
ing as she answered: 

“ I — I don’t know ! I ” 

Yes Berry ! you do want to go ! And so you shall, too ! 
And I will accompany j'^oii. Come into my room and get 
ready ! ” said the kind-hearted old lady. Then stooping to 
her daughter and grand-daughter, she whispered : 

“ It is much better that she should, even if he is of the 
party.” 

Yes, Berenice did wish to join that cotnpany ; and 
chief!}' because her lover was among them. She could not 
niarr}' him. She knew that now, and the knowledge was 
breaking her heart. But oh, how she longed to see him 
once more! It had been but three days since he had left 
the house ; j'et those three lonely days seemed to her longer 
than the whole of her life that had preceded tliem. So she 
joj'fully followed the old lad}' into the adjoining bed-room, 
and sent a maid up stairs for her hood and cloak. 

As for Madam Journey she instinctively felt that the 
game course which might have beeji the wisest in the case 
of another girl in similar circumstances — total sequestration 
from the society of her lover — would have been fatal in 
that of Berenice. Though she could not marry him, it was 
a matter of life and death to her to see him sometimes. 
And Madam Journey thought it better that she should see 
him in a large, gay company of young ladies and gentle- 
men on just such a frolic as tliis. So she hurried her prep- 
arations. 


216 


THE FAMILY 1) O O IVl . 


Won’t either of you ladies go?” ashed Fiilvia, when 
she w'as left with the two widows. 

No ; we prefer to stay indoors in such weather/’ said 
Mrs. Dering. 

And indeed, I don’t think it is very prudent in grand- 
ma to take Berry out — but she knows best,” added Mrs. 
Brooke. 

“What is the matter with Berry? She looks as if sho 
either had been very ill, or was going to be. What is it ? ” 

“Not much. She has been too closely confined to the 
house during this dreadful weather, and her spirits have 
suffered from this seclusion, I suppose,” said Mrs. Brooke 
evasively. 

“ Then, of course, the ride will do her good. Madam 
Journey was right, and I wonder you objected, dear Mrs. 
Brooke,” said Fulvia, as she stood warming her hands be- 
fore the fire. 

Before Mrs. Brooke could reply. Madam Journey, 
MTapped in furs and shawls from head to foot, came into the 
room, followed by Berenice, who was equally well defended 
from the weather. 

“ I don’t suppose we shall be home before to-morrow, so 
nobody need sit up for us,” said this gay old lady, as she 
bade good-night to those who were to stay at home. 

Fulvia flew across to the drawing-room, and summoned 
her companions to come out. 

Madam Journey and Berenice met them in the hall, 
where there was a hasty general greeting. 

The hand of Berenice was clasped within that of Yane, 
and he whispered : 

“ Oh, what a joy to meet you again ! It seems a lifetime 
since we parted ! How are you, my beloved ? ” 

“ I am well j but I wanted to see you so much. I am so 
glad you came. How have you been, dear Vane ? ” 

“Breaking my heart for ” he began. 


THE STEAW RIDE. 


217 


But lovers could not have any confidences in that compa- 
ny. They liad exchanged these few words while the crowd 
of young ladies and gentlemen, all at once, were jabbering 
and giggling around them. And they all in a body hurried 
off to the sleigh, whirling Vane and Berenice along with 
them. 

Old Captain Storms was among the number left behind 
in the sleigh. 

As soon as he saw Madam Journey among the returning 
party, he jumped up and clapped his arms and crowed, ex- 
claiming : 

“Bravo! that’s right! Here’s Madam herself! Mind, I 
speak first ! I engage her hand for the first set ! And 
we’ll open the ball together,” and so sajdng, he jumped 
down and helped the laughing old lady up into a seat. 

His son performed the same office for Berenice, to the 
indignation of Vane, who had been crowded from her side 
in the rush for the sleigh. 

They were all seated; and then there vras more hand- 
shaking ; and the sleigh flew off again, taking its course 
still down the north bank of the creek, until it reached the 
mouth ; when it turned up the west shore of the bay. 

The sleigh flew on as before, plains of ice and snow, and 
woods of frost and icicles flying away behind it, until it 
reached a broad road running westward through a deep for- 
est — an enchanted forest of pearl and diamond trees and 
bushes, wrought by the mighty magician. Jack Prost. 

Through this fairy land the sleigh flew mile after mile, 
until it reached a large clearing, in the midst of which 
stood a very old mansion-house, overshadowed by a few 
hemlock trees. 

“We are going to Hourie Hall ! ” exclaimed Halcyone. 

“Yes ! AVe are going to Hourie Hall, to dance all night 
in the big parlor. There, what do you think of that? 
Won't we astonish the Major, Lord love his dear old heart, 
said Fulvia, warmly. 


218 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


“ But the idea ! Going to a house where there is only an 
old gentleman and two 3mung men and the servants ! No 
lad^" to receive 3'ou ! ’’ said Captain Storms a little jealously. 

‘^That’s the fun, bless you ! We have all been some 
time or other on surprise parties to all the houses in the 
neighborhood except his, and we always refrained from 
going there just because there were no ladies to receive us. 

And so Who do 3’ou think proposed that we should 

go to Hourie Hall this time ? ’’ 

“Who?’’ inquired Madam Journey. 

“Whj’^ uncle, bless his good old soul! He said Major 
Hourie, the most genial and kind-hearted old gentleman in 
the community, should not be passed over so completely 
because he had no wife, sister, or daughter to solace his sol- 
itude, and we thought he was right, and so we decided to 
come here! Bless the dogs! I can’t hear myself think! 
I wonder why the planters deem it so necessary to keep so 
many dogs? ” complained Fulvia. 

“ To guard their sheep-folds and stable to be sure,” an- 
swered the captain. 

I will get down and speak to them,” said Harry, jump- 
ing from the sleigh, as it drew up before the old-fashioned 
house. He quickly dispersed the dogs, just as the house- 
door opened, and old Major Hourie in person stepped out 
to see the nature of this late and unexpected arrival. 

“ Let me go and announce m^^self and par^V,” said Ful- 
via, springing from the sleigh and running up the steps 
that led to the piazza. 

“ The Queen of the Fairies and all her court ! ” exclaimed 
the gallant old gentleman, as he recognized Fulvia and her 
companions, and advanced to meet tliem. 

“ The Queen of the Brownies, if you will ! There is 
nothing fair about me — except my dealings!” laughed 
Fulvia, as she franklj^ held up her cheek for the Majors 
salute. 


THE STRAW RIDE. 


219 


** Say rather the Queen of the Amazons at the head of 
her arm}” come to storm 3mur castle ! ” put in old Storms. 

The castle surrenders unconditionall}" to so beautiful a 
besieger!” replied the courteous old man. Then turning 
to her companions who were now leaving the sleigh and 
pouring up into, the porch, and including the w'hole party 
in his sw’eeping bow, he said : 

Ladies and gentlemen, jmu have done me the greatest 
honor and pleasure. I am delighted to see 3'ou all. Walk 
in. Ah, Madam Journej-", how kind of j-ou to come. Take 
ray arm, if you will do me the favor,” added the Major, as 
he attempted to help his oldest guest up the iced and 
slippery steps. 

“ I reckon you think lam an old fool to come out to-night 
on such an expedition as this ; but Berr^’^ wanted to come» 
and I didn’t want her to join such a harum scarum party of 
jmung folks without my protection,” said Madam Journey, 
deprecatingly. 

M}' dearest lady, I am proud and enchanted to see you ; 
and I should be something sillier than an idiot to entertain 
one thought of 3’ou that fell short of the highest respect 
and esteem,” replied the Major, deferentially, as he led the 
old lady into the house. 

“ That’s all very well ; but Tve got the promise of the 
first dance, and am going to open the ball with Madam,” 
called the captain after them. 

They were all ushered first into a large old drawing- 
room, where there was a good fire. 

They were all by this time very cold and stiff and numb, 
and glad to crowd around the hearth. 

Where are the young men ? Degenerate dogs, not to 
be. the first to welcome so fair a bevy of ladies. You and 
I w’ould not have been so backward in our youth, would we, 
Major?” boisterously^ questioned the captain. 

‘‘By no means,” said the old gentleman, adding in a 


220 


THE r A ]\I I T. Y DOOM, 


lower tone ; but then neither you nor I ever smoked in 
our boyhood. Husli ! the young fellows were smoking 
when jmu came, and they have fled in dismay to clear them- 
selves of the crowd.^’ 

What o’clock old witch ? ” questioned Fulvia of hei 
sister. 

Half-past nine,” replied Flavia. 

Meanwhile, Major Hourie had rung a hell that presently 
brought a grey-haired negro servant to his presence. 

Go and tell Mollj’’ Cotton to come here directly,” said 
the Major to his astounded servant, who stood staring at the 
unexpected storming party in complete consternation. 

Hid you hear me, Silas ? Go and tell Molly Cotton to 
come here immediately to attend to these ladies ! ” repeated 
the Major. 

But, marse, Molly done ’tired to bed this hour ago,” 
blurted out the old negro. 

The Major, good natured and courtly old gentleman as 
he was, frowned and stamped at his servant, and hade him 
begone and do his bidding. 

But the ladies with one accord, raised objections. 

Oh, no, no, no. Major ; pray don’t disturb poor Aunt 
Molly. Indeed, w'e can wait upon ourselves and each other. 
Let the old creature have her sleep out,” was the burden of 
their plea. 

She gets sleep enough, ladies. She’ll sleep herself to 
death some of these days or nights. And Silas has already- 
gone on his errand.” 

How, Heaven forbid Major Hourie’s housekeeper should 
be unpropitious, and Molly Cotton turn out another Pinky 
Skinner,” thought Vane to himself. 

In a very short time his doubts were set at rest. 

The door opened and IMolly Cotton, cook and housekeeper 
at Hourie Hall, came into the room — rolled into the room, 
I had rather said. 


THE STRAW RIDE. 


221 


In form she was short and round, with a big motherly 
bosom, shaped not unlike a feather-bed tied around the 
middle. In complexion she was black and shiny, with white 
teeth, and a smiling and comfortable expression of counte- 
nance. 

Molly, see to the ladies’ wants directly,” said the mas- 
ter of the house. 

“ Yes, sar, sartain marse. When Slyiis told me how dey 
was corned, I sent him right up stairs to de bed-rooms to 
light de fires. Dey’ll be ready in five minutes, marster. 
Ladies better stay here till de rooms is warm,” was the 
smiling reply. 

Oh, Aunt Molly, indeed we are all so sorry. It was a 
shame for us to come here to disturb you in this way,” said 
Lulvia. And her words were immediatel}’’ chorused by the 
other young girls. 

Hi, chillun ! ’sturb who ? Not me, indeed. I ain’t no 
ways put out. ’Deed, I very glad to see 3'ou all — dat I is,” 
was the smiling answer. 

“ But to rouse you out of your sleep in this heartless 
way,” said Fulvia, unable to forgive herself. 

Hi, honey, who told you I asleep ? ” 

Why, Silas did.” 

Slyus, ole fool ; what call he say dat ? Sleep, indeed ! 
No, indeed. I was no sleep. I laid down cause I was so 
dead lonesome. ’Deed, it’s dreadful lonesome here nights. 
Ole masse settin’ in his corner reading of ’Polean Bunny- 
part’s life, as he’s so fond of. Two young marsters sucking 
cigars up in de parlor. Down kitchen, old Slyus, with his 
ole head stuck down in de chimney-corner, and a stump 0’ 
pipe in his mouth, smoking worse than the chimney itself, 
and pisenin’ me out wid de smell. ’Deed, I couldn’t stand 
it no longer, so I jes tuk myself off to bed, cause I was so 
lonesome. ’Deed, I mighty glad 3’ou all coined, chillun.” 

‘‘ You are very good to say so, Aunt Molly,” said Fulvia. 


222 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


‘‘Look yer, honey ! this is what you call a Spry party, 
ain’t it?” 

“ A surprise party, Aunt Molly.” 

“Well then a sprize part^M It’s all the same! I told 
Slyus it was ! cause you see I’d heerd tell of um, dough we 
never had de pleasure of one in dis house before. So I told 
Slyus it was a spry party. But lord I Slyus is such a jass- 
ack, he don’t know nothing ! What do you think he said it 
was ? ” 

“ What ? ” laughed old Storms, joining the conversation. 

“ He said it was the British landed again, and you had all 
runned away from them ! ” 

“ Oh, ho, ho, ho ! he was thinking of the war of 1812, 
when Cockburn’s fleet was in the Chesapeake, and his raids 
were the terror of its shores ! That was in old Silas’s youth, 
and of course it made a great impression on him. I’m sure 
he thinks Cockburn was an Ogre King, and his forces were 
his subjects. But here comes the old fellow himself! 
Now for a joke ! ” 

Silas put his white head into the room, bowed, and said, 

“The fires is ready, ladies.” And he would have re- 
treated immediately, but that the captain called him. 

“ Come here, Silas.” 

“ Yes, sar.” 

“Umme! You know Mdiat has occurred to drive us all 
away from our homes, up to this place at this time of night, 
I presume, Silas?” said the captain, with a deep groan 
and an awful look. 

“Well sir, I mistrusted, I did indeed sir, I mistrusted 
what had happened of, and so I hinted to Molly, sir, but she 
would not hear to it : — women is such a fool ! ” replied 
Silas, rolling his eyes. 

“Yes,” groaned the captain. “It is too true! the Brit- 
ish have landed.” 

“ Lor ! ” 


THE S T R AW RIDE. 


223 


^‘Yes, and they have taken Washington city!” 

«Lor!!” 

And blockaded Baltimore I ” 

Lor ! ! ! ” 

And burned Annapolis.” 

“Lor!!!!’’ 

“ And worse than all they have seized what do you 

think ? ” 

Lor, mnrster, what ? ” asked the old negro, his eyes and 
mouth growing wider and wider at each announcement. 

‘‘ The village of Henniker ! ” groaned the captain, clasp- 
ing his hands, and rolling his eyes. 

The old man dropped down upon the nearest seat, and 
lost his breath, and sat staring in stupid consternation 
upon his informer, who continued to groan and shake his 
head, muttering at intervals ; 

“ All gone ! all gone. Washington, Baltimore, Annapolis, 
Henniker.” 

But when he came to Henniker, the old negro found his 
voice, and broke forth. 

Oh my good gracious me, not Henniker! Let them 
take AVashington, and all them little outside places, but 
donT say as. they’re had the owdacious impidince to take 
Henniker from right miner neaf of our noses.” 

Yes, but they have taken Henniker ! ” persisted the 
captain. 

Hen we is all ruinnated widout no remedy,” howled the 
victim in a voice of utter desolation ; for knowing as little 
of geography as he did of history, or politics, he fully 
believed the little fishing village of Henniker to be the 
largest and most important sea-port in the world ; the centre 
of civilization ; the heart, if not the “ hub,” of the universe. 

Hen we is all ruinnated widout no remedy,” he kept 
repeating at intervals. 

^*Yes, I’m afraid we are,” pleasantly assented the cap- 
tain. 


224 


THE FA MI I. Y DOOM.- 


“ Marse, wLat they going to do long o' Henniker, now 
they got it ? They wouldn’t go to burn sich a big place aa 
that, would they ? ” 

“ Oh no ! they would never do that. I did hear that 
they were going to turn the whole place into a soap factory, 
and to catch all the fat old darkies who were too laz}'- to 
work, and boil them down for soap grease ! ” sighed the 
captain. 

Bile us down for soap grease ! ” gasped the old man in 
the utmost horror. 

So they say ! That is the reason I came away. I’m 
so stout, and so sun burned, I didn’t know but they might 
take me for a fat old darkey, and pop me into the cauldron 
by mistake ! ” said the captain verj'’ gravel^'. 

Oh Marse Captain ! how I ’tanks the lord as I’m at a 
safe distance from de sea-port,” fervently exclaimed old 
Silas. 

“ I doubt about the safety of the distance, though. They 
can come here in a couple of hours if they want to come.” 

“ Why do 3^ou tease the old man so, Captain Storms ? 
It’s a shame ! Look at him ! .He looks as if his heart was 
broken, bless his dear old soul !” put in Fulvia Wall. 

Bulvia was always in the fullness ofjier loving kindness, 
blessing somebody or other’s heart, or loving somebody or 
other’s soul. 

Uncle Silas,” she continued, Captain Storms is only 
joking with you. No foreigner will ever land on our shores 
with any other than friendly intentions as long as the 
world lasts ! And now to come down from the heroic to the 
farcical, we are only a surprise party come to storm Major 
Hourie’s castle and to dance all night just as Aunt Molly 
told you.” 

Bat so ? ” inquired the old man, slowly and incredu- 
lously. 

Yes, indeed, it is ; you will see it is,” Bulvia a:ssured 
him. 


THE STRAW RIDE. 


225 


Lor now, Marse Captain Torn, what for you go to put 
eich a scare on top of poor ole nigger ? ” demanded Silas 
turning reproachfully to Captain Storms. 

“ To try your pluck ! To try your pluck, my old war- 
horse ! To try your pluck, which I find nil^ nix, nothing, 
laughed the captain. 

I don’t know what you mean Nick’s nuffin, Marse 
Tom ; but I know it wasn’t nuffin to me, to have sich a 
scare hev on top of me,” grumbled the old man. 

There, then, there is something to pay for my fun and 
to buy you some tobacco,” laughed old Storms tossing a 
quarter eagle in Silas’s hands. 

“Lor, Marse Captain! thanky’, sir! ’Deed you may 
scare me every day of my life at that price,” grinned tlie 
old negro, affectionately contemplating the pretty little gold 
coin as it lay in the palm of his hand. 

“But mind,” said the captain, holding up his finger in 
golernn warning, “ when you buy tobacco, you are not to sit 
in the chimney-corner puffing clouds of smoke into Molly’s 
face until you make her sick and drive her from the fire.” 

“Who, we? ” cried the old man in indignant disclaimer- 
“Who, me? Now Marse Captain Tom Storms, who been 
carrying tales to you, ’bout me ? But I know ! It was 
that Molly ! Lor, Marse Tom, taint no use to mind nuffin 
’tall she say ! Molly sich a fool ; don’t know what she’s 
sayin’ of, half her time. ’Deed I t’ink she’s agettin’ into 
her dotage, and her brains is a saffenin’. Lor ! where is 
she now?” he exclaimed, with a sudden start, and a look 
of alarm, as he recollected himself, and turiicd to see if she 
was within hearing. 

The captain burst into a roar of laughter. 

“Be easy, my valiant friend. The dangerous dotard is 
out of the way,” he said. 

In fact, Molly had left the room to show the ladies up- 
stairs. 


14 


226 


THE FAMILY DOOM 


She took them to a spacious front chamber immediately 
over the drawing-room. It was a very healthful apartment, 
with whitewashed walls, and bare floor, and big open fire. 

It was supplied, besides, with every real comfort and con- 
venience for these unexpected guests — two large, soft white 
beds, if an3'^ one wished to lie down ; two easy-chairs, if 
they wished to lounge, and two wash-stands and two dress- 
ing-tables, all with all the necessar}’^ accessories, if they 
should prefer to sacrifice to the Graces. 

Of course they did prefer to do so. They had all come 
up with their offerings already prepared ; the}’’ had brought 
carpet-bags filled with combs and brushes, oils and essences, 
laces and ribbons, gems and flowers, gloves and slippers, 
and so on. 

And now with merry haste they began to. adorn them- 
selves for the dance. Very inelegant their dresses would 
have looked in any fashionable city ball-room ; but very 
appropriate they were for the surprise-party at the old-fash- 
ioned country-house. 

Take Halcyone’s dress, for instance : 

She wore the many-hued Scotch plaid silk of which she 
was so fond, and her golden-brown curls were bound with 
blue ribbon. 

Or take Fulvia’s, which was a royal purple merino dress, 
set off with orange-colored ribbons and topaz ear-rings and 
brooch. 

Or even that of Berenice Brooke, the heiress of Henni- 
ker, which was a rich but plain crimson silk, made with a 
high neck and long sleeves befitting the season, finished 
with a ruffling of old point lace around the neck and wrists 
and set off by a simple set of pearls consisting only of ear- 
rings, breast-pin and bandeau for the hair. 

They were all soon ready to go down stairs, and they 
were met in the lower hall by Major Hourie and his two 
nephews, who again made them all most welcome to Hourie 
Hall. 


THE SURPRISE PARTY. 


22T 


Major Hourie took Madam Journey by tbe hand and 
with her led the way to the long drawing-room, where the 
greater number of the gentlemen were assembled. 

Ernest Blackistone impetuously seized the hand of Hal- 
cyon e, who quite as impetuously snatched it back, and with 
more promptitude than politeness turned and gave it to his 
cousin Clarence Fairlie. 

Young Blackistone, repulsed and humiliated, turned to 
the nearest young lady and with a grave bow offered his 
arm. And with a merry laugh Elavia Wall accepted the 
courtesy, well knowing that it was offered at second hand. 

At the same time Harry Storms made a rush for Bere- 
nice Brooke. But quickly as he had moved, he found him- 
self forestalled by Vane Vandeleur. Mortified and sad- 
dened, he fell back, and — hesitatingly and diffidently, aa 
though he felt that he might scarcely venture to do so — he 
held out his hand to Eulvia, who very good-humoredly ac- 
cepted the escort of Berry’s rejected attendant. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE SURPRISE PARTY. 

All went merry as a marriage bell.— Btrow. 

Too many lovers will puzzle a maid. — A nok. 

As soon as Vane Vandeleur found Berry’s little hand 
drawn within his arm and clasped against his breast, he 
stoiped and whispered : 

During all our ride I have been trying to get a word 
with you, but in vain. Did you try to avoid me, my 
love?” 

« Oh no ! how could you think that I did ? Never think 
80 again. I will never avoid you, come what may. Vane,” 
she replied. 


228 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


Heaven bless for those kind words, dear love. I 
wish to have a long, uninterrupted interview with you this 
very evening. Can you give me one, my dearest ? ” 

I will try ; for I would so much rather sit quietly in 
some corner and converse with you, than mingle with the 
dancers; hut you know, dear Vane^ in a crowded room, 
there may be some chance of isolation ; hut in a room that 
is only half full there is very little.” 

“ But you will co-operate with me in trying for this ? ” 

« Oh yes!” 

But how ? ” 

For one thing, I shall not dance. All my young friends 
like dancing so much better than thej’’ like me, that they 
will leave me for that. If you happen to perfer me to 
Terpsichore 3’ou will have an opportunity’’ of indulging your 
bad taste,” she replied archl3^ 

They had been following in the crowd that poured 
through the long passage, and their low love-tuned voices 
had been drowned, to all but themselves, in the silvery 
stream of laughter and talk tliat flowed up all around them. 
But when they found themsi&lfes in the midst of the draw- 
ing-room, and saw other couples pairing off and taking 
their places in the dance, and when they heard the two rus- 
tic musicians — the fiddler and tarnbourinist — tuning up 
their instruments, they^ sauntered off to a distant sofa — not 
a luxurious modern sofa, with elastic springs and swan’s- 
down cushions, and satin or velvet covers, but a hard old 
case of an antique sofa, stuffed with the stiffest horse-hai'*, 
and covered with the toughest leather. But the lovers sat 
down on it side by side, and to them it was a bank of vio- 
lets, a seat in Paradise. 

They’^ are dancing now. They have no ey^es or ears for 
you or me. And we will talk, Oh, my darling, it is .but a 
day or two, yet how long it seems since I left your house. 
It was only the house I left, dear Berenice, for 1 have never 


THE SURPRISE PARTY. 


229 


left you in the spirit, since I first saw you. I shall never 
be able to do so. Only two days out of sight of each other. 
And yet how much I think must have happened in that 
time. How much I have to ask you. How much you must 
have to tell me. But first — have you been able to influence 
the ‘ Powers ’ in our favor ? Are they more leniently 
disposed towards our hopes than they were ? I have almost 
judged so, from the kindness with which Mrs. Jernynghara 
received me. Was I right ? ’’ earnestly inquired Vane, as 
he took her hand, which she permitted to remain in his 
clasp. 

“ Was I right ? ” he repeated. 

She hesitated for a moment, her face grew a shade paler, 
and her voice trembled with emotion, as she answered ; 

“Oh, Vane, Vane, how shall I reply? I know not. 
They do indeed look on you with much favor at Henniker. 
It is not that. But — but — for all that — I can never marry 
you, Vane!” — And here her voice broke into low, half- 
supressed sobs. 

“ Berenice I ” he exclaimed, in the utmost astonishment. 

But she continued to sob in that tearless, silent way that 
is more heart-breaking than the loudest demonstrations of 
grief. 

Berenice,” he said once again, “ what do you mean ? ” 

I know that you love mo ! All that you have said — and 
you are truth itself — assures me that you do ! This great 
emotion confirms my faith in you. I know you love me, 
Berenice ? ” 

“Oh, I do! I do!” she sobbed, raising her head for a 
moment, and then dropping it again upon the arm of the 
sofa. 

“And you promised that though you would yield present 
ooedicnce to your mother and guardians, yet when you 
should become of age, you would be m}'' wife,” 

“ Yes, I promised that ! But oh ! I did not know then 
— what I know now ! ” 


230 


THE FAMILY DO<^)M. 


" What is that, Berenice ? ” 

That I must not marry you, or — any one, ever, in this 
world. I would not marry any one but you. Vane, even if 
I might ; but I can not marry even you, least of all you.” 

‘‘ Stop ! for Heaven’s sake, let us understand this ! You 
gay— do you mean to say, Berenice, that you retract your 
promise to be my wife, — at some time or other?” ques- 
tioned the young man, in deep emotion. 

“ I must ! I have no choice,” she moaned. 

And yet you say you love me ? ” 

And I do ! Oh, I do. Vane,” she sighed. 

‘‘ But you refuse to be my wife ? ” 

I cannot wed any one, least of all would I wed you.” 

^ Least of all ’ — me ! In the name of Heaven, why ? ” 
inquired Vane, deeply wounded. 

Because — because — I love you too much — too much to 
pull you down to such destruction ! ” 

“ Destruction ! There it is again, Berenice. I will not 
conceal from you that I have heard a hint of this before !” 
he exclaimed. 

Of this — what?^^ she cried with a start, and a sudden 
turn towards him. 

‘^Of this— something — this secret — this nameless mys- 
tery in your house, that threatens to prevent your happi- 
ness in married life ; but that shall not prevent it, I 
swear ! ” 

Oh yes, I suppose every one in the community knows 
of the fate that hangs over me. I suppose they knew 
it long before ever I did, who never heard of it, until 
last Monday evening,” moaned the girl. 

‘^Ko, my darling, no! Dew know anything about it. 
Indeed I have understood that there are only three in the 
whole world who know it, and Berenice, I am not one of 
the three. I know there is somethin g ; but I do not know 
the nature of that nameless something. I come to you 


THE SURPRISE PARTY. 


231 


now for the knowledge. Tell me what it is, my best, my 
only love, and I will promise you whatever the impediment 
may be, since it is not a law of God — and it is not a law of 
God that stands between us, is it, love ? 

Oh, no ! no ! ” 

“ Nor any law of man ? ’’ 

‘‘ No, nor any law of man ! 

Nor any duty ? ” 

Nor any duty ! ” 

And we love one another ? ” 

Oh, we do ! we do ! ” 

Tlien,” exclaimed Vane, as his face cleared up in 
smiles, then, since we love each other, and since no 
Divine or human law, or duty, stands between us we will 
marry ! if not to-day, anotlier ! If not this year, next.’^ 

Oh, but there is an impediment between us great and 
iinsurmountable ; yes, greater and more unsurmountable 
than those you have named! For listen. Vane ! laws may 
be broken although we would not break them ; and duties 
may be violated although we would not violate them ; but 
Vane, the impediment that stands between you and me can- 
not be overcome by force, or undermined by cunning. It is 
indestructible. Vane, it remains forever and ever !” she said 
with a grave calmness ; for she had now in a measure 
recovered her self-possession, and she looked and spoke with 
a sort of resigned or patient despair. 

^‘And yet I swear by all my hopes of salvation, that 
since this object is neither a law nor a duty, it shall not 
separate us ! And now, my beloved, tell me what it is. 
The ugliest monster has a name. AVhat is the name of 
this that stands between you and me ? ’’ 

I may not tell you I It must not be talked of! I said, 
just now, when you hinted to me that you had heard some- 
thing of this matter, I said, out of my grief and my impa- 
tience, that I supposed everybody in the community knew 


232 T II E E A M I L Y DOOM. 

more of this secret, or hnew it earlier, than I di(], who am the 
most interested in it. It is not so, however j very few have 
heard anything about it; fewer still remember it. It is 
passing out of tlie memory’ of man, as all interested desire 
it to do. It is known now but by three persons besides 
myself. And Captain Storms, was he your informant ? ” 

Yes, he was.’’ 

“ Captain Storms is not one of the three. He knows but 
a very small part of the truth.” 

Perhaps,” thought Vane, “ that was the reason why 
he wouldn’t tell me the story. He was unable to do so, and 
made a virtue of forbearance, or of necessity.” 

The facts are known but to three people besides myself 
— to my grandmother Jernyngham, to Father Ignatius, and 
to old Mr. Basil Wall. The two old gentlemen do not be- 
lieve in this ‘ something,’ and they insist that it should be 
suffered to die out for want of repetition. And so my 
grandmother Jernyngham, who was the last hereditary 
custodian of the secret, never told either of her other de- 
scendants, and only told me as the last resort, when she saw 
— saw ” and Berenice stopped short and blushed. 

When she saw that you were going, sometime or other, 
to bless me with jmurself !” put in Vane Vandeleur. 

‘‘‘ Bless ! echoed Berenice with a mournful irony. 

Yes, bless ! whatever else may come, yourself shall 
bless me ! But go on, beloved ! When Mrs. Jernyngham 
found out this purpose, what then ? ” 

‘‘She told me a family history, or episode, that she had 
never told to any other one of her descendants. She told it 
to me that I might save you, and she bound me by a 
solemn vow never to divulge this secret to a living soul 
without her consent. She wishes it to die with me.” 

“It shall die with you since ^mu wish it. But' by all 
my hopes of happiness, it shall not separate us ! ■ I shall 
hold you by jmur promise to be my wife at a certain time, 


1’ 11 E S U 11 P 11 I S E P A R T Y . 


233 


and when that time comes I sliall claim your hand in mar- 
riage ! ” said the young man with a conclusive firmness. 

“Oh, Vane, my dear, dear, dearest friend! it cannot be ! 
It cannot, indeed, VaneJ I should be wrong to let you be- 
lieve it could, for a moment 1 Put away the thought from 
your mind forever, dear, dearest Vane,’^ she pleaded with 
her clasped hands. 

“And yet with all you love me 1^^ he said in a strangely 
mournful perplexity. 

“ Love you, Vane ! When my mother bade me think no 
more of you, I grieved so heavily that at length she told me 
that I might — might ’’ 

“ Might marr}” me whenever you liked ? ” smiled Vane. 

“ Yes,’^ murmured Berenice, blushing and faintly respond- 
ing to the smile. 

“ Then why not take the dear lady at her gracious word ? 
Oh, Berenice, my darling, why not since you love me?^^ 

“ Hush ! It is because I love you that I will not do it. 
I was called into my old grandmother’s room, where she 
told me that episode, when I learned that, for your own 
sake I must never marry you. Vane 1 I fell as one dead to 
the floor, the first woman of our line that ever succumbed 
to such weakness 1 They brought me back to life ; but 
Vane, in the night of anguish that followed, I thought my 
soul would have parted, indeed ! for 1 believed then that as 
I could never be your wife I must never see j^our face 
again ! I don’t know why I thought so ; but that was the 
impression that overwhelmed me, that was crushing out my 
life, and would have completed its work but for my dear 
grandmother.” 

■ Berenice ! dear Berenice, did it give you so much pain 
to think of parting with me ! ” said Vane, taking her hand 
with deep emotion. 

“ It nearly killed me, it would have killed me but for my 
dear old friend. She came to me and asked me why my 


234 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


heart was breaking. I answered because I sliould see you 
no more. She told me I should see you as often as I 
wished to do so. She said that thougli I ought not to 
marry, I might see you. She asked me if I would be con- 
tented to see you, as I saw my other young friends.” 

And you, my beloved, what did you answer to that ? ” 

“I told her no, that I could not be content to see you only 
as I could see others. I could not be content unless I could 
know that at sometime or other our lives should be united, 
and we should be all in all to each other ! ” 

Heaven bless you, my darling, for your love and your 
truth ! ” fervently exclaimed the lover. 

But I thanked her warmly for the promised indulgence, 
and I told her that though it might not satisfy my heart it 
would save my life. Oh, Vane ! I felt that if I could have 
you near me, and see 3^ou occasion all}’^, I should be able to 
live ; but not else ! not else ! for I felt mj^ very life ebbing 
away that night before my dear grandmother brought me 
this hope to save me.” 

“My darling Berenice, I am yours now and forever; 
yours wholly and entirel3^” 

“ I do believe you ! And now, dear Vane, I wish you to 
promise me one thing.” 

“ I will promise anything in the world that you wish, 
and keep mj^ promise to the death ! ” he most earnestl3»- 
declared. 

“Promise me, then, that you will not leave the neighbor- 
hood, although you cannot marr^^ poor me.” 

“Ho; I will never leave the neighborhood while you are 
in it. Thank you, dearest Berenice, for the permission to 
stay near you,” he fervently added. 

“ Oh, how much I thank you rather, for I know, I know, 
how great the sacrifice must be. Vane! I know that 
many people, being in our circumstances, loving eacli other 
without the most distant hope of marriage, would deem it 


THE SURPRISE PARTY. 


235 


essentially necessary to part utterly, and see no more of 
each other for ever. But I — I have no strength for so sub- 
lime a sacrifice. Vane. And you ? ” 

“ I do not believe in such unnecessary sacrifices. When 
lovers part under such circumstances it is because they are 
really incapable of sacrificing their own selfishness for each 
other’s sake ; they leave each other to mate themselves 
elsewhere. We will not do so. We will love one another 
and trust in the Lord, and be patient until we can marry.” 

‘^But, oh, Vane, we can never, never marry. Oh, put 
that fallacious hope awa,y from your heart.” 

“ But I will not and cannot, my darling. I look forward 
steadfastly to our wedding-day.” 

But the impediment ” 

Being neither a law nor a duty, is a matter of mere 
moonshine. I shall either overcome it, or undermine it, or 
walk right through it,” resolutely repeated the young lover, 
as he raised her hand to his lips. 

^‘Hush! stop! this set of quadrille is over, and the 
dancers are looking about for seats,” whispered Berenice 
just as Harry Storms, seeing how the leathern sofa was occu- 
pied, and being far more desirous of breaking up the tete-a- 
tete, than of furnishing his partner with a seat — led Fulvia 
Wall up to them. 

Mr. Vandeleur, as in courtesy bound, arose and bowed 
and offered the young lady his vacated place. 

Fulvia, with a smile, innocently and ignorantly accepted 
it. And then Harry Storms, bending low before the beau- 
tiful Berenice, said : 

Shall I have the honor of a waltz with you ? ” 

‘^Thanks; but I do not waltz,” gently replied the beauty. 

‘‘Then may I hope for the pleasure of your hand in the 
next quadrille ? ” he persisted. 

“ Much obliged, but I shall not dance this evening,” she 
answered, sweetly. 


236 


T II E F A :M L L Y DOOM. 


I am very sorry to hear 3'ou say so. You, the most 
graceful vvaltzer, the most accomplished dancer that we 
have,” he said, with an air of disappointment too real to be 
misunderstood. 

Mr. Storms’ good opinion of my poor accomplishment 
makes him a little oblivious of the better claims of others 
to his consideration,” said Berenice, in a rebuking little 
aside. 

‘‘By Jove, so it does,” breathed Harr}’’, in a fierce whis- 
per, and flushing up to his red hair, as he woke to the 
knowledge that he had been complimenting Berenice not 
only at the expense of ever}’’ other young lady in the room, 
but even at that of his late partner, Fulvia, who had heard 
him. 

“ I meant — I mean — I meant,” began the boy, in the 
utmost confusion of ideas, as he looked from one to the 
other with his face as red as his head — redder it could not 
be. 

“You meant — 3mu mean — you meant. Now don’t go to 
make matters worse by trying to flounder out of your posi- 
tion, Mr. Storms,” lauglied Fulvia, good-humoredly. “ You 
meant the truth and you spoke the truth, and you should 
not back out of it, even for politeness. We all acknowl- 
edge Berry’s superiority in all things. She is our sovereign, 
and however jealous we, her subjects, may be of each other 
we dare not be envious of her. Your majesty, I kiss your 
liand,” she added, gaily, suiting the action to the word. 

But the waltz music was playing now, and couples were 
whirling around and around in dizzy circles, and Ernest 
Blackistone came flying up towards Fulvia, and saying: 

“I have been looking for you all over the room. Will 
you favor me with this waltz ? ” 

“Of course I know T am ‘Hobson’s choice,’” said Fulvia, 
with a good-humored glance at the place where Halcyone 
and Clarence were whirling away to the measure of the 


THE SURPRISE PARTY. 


237 


melting music — “ but there ! I am fond of waltzing, and 
had rather be merry than dignified, so I will go.’’ And she 
arose and placed her hand in Ernest’s arm. lie led her 
away. 

But Vane and Berenice were not left alone. Harry 
lingered near them, a consciously unwelcome addition to 
their group, but an obstinate loiterer for all that. 

In another part of the room another pair of lovers were 
fretting. Clarence Eairlie liaving wliirled Halcyone around 
and around in the dizzy dance, until from some cause, men- 
tal or physical, or both, he grew faint and giddy ; and Hal- 
cj^oiie having looked up and seen that his face was as white 
as a sheet, and guessed that something was wrong, drew 
him away to a seat and said : 

“ Clarry, what’s the matter ? Have I worked you too 
hard ? I am an inveterate waltzer, and apt to forget that all 
other persons are not like me. I am soriy, Clarry, but you 
should have told me when you grew sick.” 

I’m not sick. It is not that,” said the young man, dis- 
dainfully’- ; I never grow giddy from waltzing. No, no, 
Halcyone, it was not that.” 

‘^Then what was it, Clarry ? Did any one tread on your 
toes ? We are crowded here, and some people dance so 
carelessly, and some boys can’t bear the least jiain, I know! 
How did it happen, Clarry ? ” she enquired, sympatheti- 
cally. 

How did what happen ? ” curtly questioned Clarence. 

That your toes were trodden upon,” said Halcyone, sol- 
emnly. 

^‘Bah!” cried Clarence, in intense disgust, — “bosh! 
you are mocking me, Halcyone. You are ruthless. Oh, 
Halcyone ! Halcyone ! don’t trifle with me any longer. It 
may be fun for you, but it is death to me — — ” 

— As the pelted frogs said to the pelting boys. But, 
pray, how have I trifled with you, sir? I don’t understand 


238 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


you at all,” said Halcyone, in a tone half of mockery, half 
of displeasure. 

** You trifle with me — you torture me ! Sometimes you 
act as if you loved me.” 

As if I ‘ loved ’ you, sir ? ” demanded the girl, with a 
toss of her head. 

Well, then, I beg your pardon if I have said anything 
amiss. I am craz}^, I believe.” 

I believe you are,” pleasantly assented Halcyone. 

“ Well, and you drive me crazy — you do, indeed, Halcy- 
one. Sometimes you do beharv’e as if you really loved me — • 
ah, I beg your pardon ! I mean, as if you liked me, or per- 
ferred me, or tolerated me, or something ; and then I am 
happy ; but at other times, even when I am waltzing with 
you, you seem to forget my very existence, and have all 
your thoughts occupied with — somebody else.” 

“ How dare you say such things to me, Clarry ? ” angri- 
ly flashed Halcyone. 

“ Because they lire true ; you asked me what made me 
ill, a while ago. I will tell you ; it was all you. While I 
was waltzing with you, and had my arm around your dear 
waist, and felt your hand on my shoulder, and your lovel}'' 
hair, and your breath on my cheek — while I felt so heavenly 
happy that I could not help telling you so, — I saw that you 
did not hear me though I spoke to you ; did not see me 
though I held you in my arms ; did not care for me though 
I was pouring my whole soul forth before you, — for your 
eyes, and cars, and heart were all absorbed in — somebody 
else.” 

“ Clarry, what is the matter with you ? Are you mad ? ” 
exclaimed Halcyone, in astonishment and indignation. 

‘‘Yes, I am mad, for I love you ! I love you ! I would 
carry you off to-night, if I could. And I hate that fellow ! 
I hate him ! and I would kill him if I could ! ” exclaimed 
the boj", grinding his teeth upon his livid and twitching 
lips 


THE SURPRISE PARTY. 


289 


Gracious goodness, you shocking little wretch ! would 
you harm j^our own cousin ? ” exclaimed Halcyone, in un- 
affected horror. 

“ My own cousin,” drawled the hoy, in supreme disdain, 

poor Ernest ! if possible, he is treated worse than I am. 
Yet, no, — he is not, either ; for you use no deceit with him. 
You do not affect to like him ; you do not attempt to con- 
ceal your dislike of him. But as for me, you make me 
your cats-paw — your convenience ; whenever you have 
wanted to avoid Ernest, you have come over to me, making 
me believe that you preferred me — making me love you.” 

How dare you talk to me in the way you do ! ” ex- 
claimed Halcjmne, flashing her eyes and stamping her foot. 

“ Because my heart is full to overflowing ; because if I 
do not speak, it will burst. Oh, Halcyone ! Halcyone I you 
have made me love you — do not make me kill myself, or 
somebody else ! ” 

“ I wonder if the moon is at its full, or if it affects you 
where it is ? ” exclaimed Halcyone, with a shrug of her 
shoulders. 

“ Don’t sneer. I tell you, I am nearly desperate. Oh, 
Halcyone, you have taken my quivering heart out of my 
bosom — do not cast it down and trample it under your feet,” 
pleaded the bo}^, in accents so impassioned that they 
touched the sympathies of the girl ; who immediatelj’’ 
altered her disdainful tone and answered kindly : 

“ Clarry, if this is true, I am very sorry for it. Dear 
Clarry, I never meant to mislead you. We have been old 
playmates all our lives whenever I have been ashore ; and 
I thought I could trust my kind old playmate and turn to 
him when I was teased by others, and I never thought he 
would misunderstand me. I am sorry if it has happened 
otherwise — I am ver3^ sorry, Clarry.” 

Oh, if \’ou aye sorry — if jmu feel that jmu \ave misled 
me — do what you can to repair the wrong.” 


240 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


But wliat can 1 do, Clarry ? I can do notliing but beg 
your pardon for the past, and avoid you for the future/'^ 

Oh, no, no, no ! you must not do that. It is too late for 
that now. That would be death to me indeed. There is 
but one thing left for you to do, Halcj^one — but one thing 
that can save or help me — love me, Halcyone ! Oh, my 
dear, dear Halcyone, love me ! ’’ he pleaded with quivering 
lips and tearful eyes in all the passionate self-abandonment 
of a boy’s first love. 

Clarrj', I do love you like a little brother. Be content 
with that,” she gently advised. 

Brother ! brother ! I’m not your brother, Halcyone I 
and I can never be your brother ! I thank Heaven for that 
much, at least. Love me as your lover — as your betrothed 
— as your husband, dear, dear Halcyone ! that is the only 
love 1 want!” he cried, veliementl}^ clasping her hands and 
losing and forgetting all boyish diffidence in the impassioned 
earnestness of his feelings. 

A love-lorn Borneo with a mocking Juliet ! 

The impudence of this little chap !” muttered Halcyone 
to herself. Then aloud and more gravely she spoke : 

“ Clarry, what would your uncle think if he knew you 
wished to marry a poor little penniless, nameless found- 
ling.'^” 

‘‘ Sa}” ? If he should speak the truth he would say that 
I could not anywhere have found a bride so lovely ! Onl^' 
love me, Halcyone ! Only say you will marry me, and I 
will risk all the rest. I have a thousand a year in my own 
right — and ” 

When you are of age you will have this sum, you 
mean?” put in Halcyone. 

. As soon as I many I shall have it. Do you suppose 
when 3’'ou and I shall be married that my uncle will keep 
back my fortune and let us suffer? You know that he is 
too mucdi of a gentleman for that. Ho, Halcyone. I know 


THE SURPRISE PARTY. 


241 


him too well. As soon as ever we shall be married, he will 
take us home, forgive us and turn over m}’' fortune to mo. 
So come, dear Halcjone I tell me when it shall be?’’ 

Stop a bit, Clarry ! we are getting on a little too fast. 
In the first place, I can’t marry 30U.” 

Halc^'one ! if you reject me, as sure as I stand here, I 
will walk out and put a bullet through my brain ! ” 

Ah ! ” cried Halcjone, with a half-suppressed scream. 

You cruel, wicked, shocking boy ! how can you terrify mo 
so?” 

As I live, Halcyone, if you reject my love, I will take 
my own life. Look in m3' face and see whether 30U think 
I am in earnest.” 

She turned and gazed at her boy lover, and her own 
cheeks were blanched to marble whiteness as she gazed. 
His face was livid, his lips compressed, his brow corrugated, 
and his e3'es glowing like two balls of blue fire. Halcyone 
gazed at him in horror, thinking tlie while of all the self- 
murders from crossed love that she had ever heard or read of. 

“ Well ! Is it to be life or death, Halc3'one ? Speak ! 
pronounce my sentence before suspense forestalls it and kills 
me. Take me and tell me to live, or reject me and let me 
die !” he cried, fixing his burning, glowing eyes upon her. 

Can’t you give a body a minute to make up her mind ? ” 
cried Halcyone, almost read3’' to burst into tears of vexation 
and alarm. You take one altogether «by surj^rise, and 
then you hurr3' and worry and terrif3’^ one so that one don’t 
know whether one stands on one’s head or one’s heels !” 

“ It takes but little time to say whether you will accept or 
reject me ; onl3' I would have you remember that these 
words, acceptance or rejection, mean for me life or death ! ” 

“ Oh dear, dear me ! dear, dear me ! I wish I had not 
come to this unlucky dance ! It was walking right into a 
lion’s den !” cried Halc3'one, wringing her hands. 

Say at once that you reject me, and I will walk out 

*15 


242 


THE F A M I I. Y ]3 O O M . 


from your presence and you shall see me no more,” said 
Clarence, desperately. 

But I do not wish to say that,” suddenly exclaimed 
'Halcyone, in great alarm, as visions of suicidal lovers 
flashed upon her memory and imagination. 

“Then you don’t reject me!” he eagerly inquired. 

“No, I don’t reject jmu,” hastily replied Halcj'one, com- 
mitting herself much more than she meant to do. 

“ You accept me then ! You let me live ! Oh, my 
queen 1 oh, m3' angel ! how shall I ever thank 3'ou enough ? 
My whole life’s love and service and devotion shall be 
yours!” he cried, abandoning himself to joy. 

“ Clarry, do compose yourself.' Don’t 3'ou see that the 
music has stopped and the waltzers are looking around for 
seats ? We shall be observed,” said Halcyone, uneasily. 

“Well, I will compose m3’-self. I am composed, now that 
you have given me your promise. Oh, m3' angel ! oh, my 
queen ! If you oidy knew how I adore 3'ou ! If you 
only ” 

“ Is t/iai being composed ? And people are coming this 
way I Clarry, let me go now ! I want to go away by my- 
self and recover my spirits before anybod3' sees me,” ex- 
claimed Halc3'one, ready to cry with vexation and disma3’', 
as she broke away from him — first pressing his hands to re- 
assure him and to keep him from cutting his throat during 
her absence. 

She ran up stairs to the large double-bedded chamber 
that had been placed at the disposal of the ladies. Sho 
threw herself down upon one of the sofas and burst into 
tears of anger and mortification. 

“Now, what have I gone and done ? Just let m3’self be 
cornered and brought to bay in this way and then fright- 
ened into making a donkey of m3'self ! And all by a mere 
boy, and for a mere boy'. Itidiculous little jackanapes, to 
have the impudence to fall in love with me! And now 


THE SURPRISE PARTY. 


243 


what shall I do? He thinks I have promised to marry 
him — marry him! bah ! But he’ll never, never, never un- 
derstand that when I said I didn’t reject him, I meant no 
more than I said, and I only wanted to prevent his doing 
something desperate at the moment, and to gain time to 
know what else to do ; and I by no means meant to prom- 
ise to marry him — marry him ! no indeed ! But then he 
acts just as if he thought I had. — Oh, dear me, what will 
become of me ! Horrid little brute to go and get up such 
a fit as that, and to corner me and take such an advantage 
of me as to threaten to shoot himself if I should refuse to 
marry him — marry him, the little monkey !” repeated Hal- 
cyone, in deep disgust. 

And yet, though she called him “ monkey,” “jacka- 
napes,” “ horrid little wretch,” and any other oj^probrious 
name she could think of, j^et she could not shut out from 
her “ mind’s eye” the image of that white, sharp, agonized 
young face, all the more pathetic in its look of suffering be- 
cause of its youth. Nor could she help picturing it in a 
yet more fearful aspect with 

“that across his throat 

Which ‘ she ’ had hardly cared to see.” 

In truth, Halcyone was much to blame ; not for wilful 
wantoness, but for careless thoughtlessness. To escape 
Ernest Blackistone’s unwelcome attentions she had taken 
refuge in the companionship of Iris younger cousin, whom 
she regarded as a mere boy. She made a parade of prefer- 
ring the society of Clarence Fairlie ; and for the reasons 
given, she really did prefer it to that of Ernest Blackistone. 
She never imagined the effect that her smiles and glances 
and caressing touches had upon the youth, whom she re- 
garded as a mere child. Clarence was really nineteen, two 
years older than Halcyone ; but his extreme delicacy of 
feature and complexion made him look much younger, and 
caused him to be treated very much as a pet, and to be 


244 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


called “ Clarry/’ and Fairj’/’ and other fond names by 
his young companions. He had been derisively called a 
little dandy,” but falsely so called. With the extreme per- 
sonal beauty, grace and refinement that might have made 
him a dandy of the first water, there was nothing at all of 
the dandy in him. He was not at all vain, but earnest ; he 
did not care for the general admiration of ladies, but he 
wanted the love of Halcyone. He was dying for it ! mad- 
dening for it ! He was the sort of jmuth to kill himself in 
a fit of despairing love. And Halcyone had read his char- 
acter aright for the first time that verj’ night. And the 
reading had made her miserable. She could not go back 
to the dancing-room below. Siie felt that lier unintentional 
levities had fearfully compromised her liberty. 

Who would have thought that fair-haired, blue-eyed, 
rosy-cheeked little fellow ever could have developed so sud- 
denly into such a little devil ? Who could have imagined 
such strength of feeling under such a fair, smooth surface ? 
I never meant to awaken it, that is certain. Is it my 
fault ? Am I a coquette ? I never wished to be. What 
shall I do ? I can’t marry him — I don’t want to. But I 
musn’t tell him so, or he will go and do something to him- 
self. I shall have just to go on and let him believe that I 
am going to marry him. And I am not. And I do so 
hate deceit. But it is to prevent mischief. And, after all, 
it will be he wdio deceives himself — oh, dear ! oh, dear ! but 
if I let him deceive himself, I shall be deceitful. Oh, what 
shall I do ? Bless the boy. I wish I had never seen his 
face. A nice time I shall have of it.” 

Yes, and a nice time she was likely to have of it with a 
boy-worshipper whose love was like a fever, like a fire; who 
was besides as jealous as a Turk, and exacting as an Eng- 
lishman. 


IN A LOVE SCRAPE. 


2i5 


CHAPTER XVII. 

IN*A LOVE SCRAPE. 

Was ever woman in this humor wooed, 

Was ever woman in this humor won. — Shakespbarb. 

Halcyone was not one who could be missed from the 
dancing-room, and not be sought. 

Where is she? What has become of her?’’ were the 
questions impatiently asked among her young .friends. 
And at length, having sought her in vain through all the 
lower rooms, a deputation of noisy girls ran up the stairs 
and burst into the big bedroom, where they found her — 
moping. 

‘‘Why, Halcyone, what is the matter? Whatever are 
you staying up here by yourself for?” rather crossly in-' 
quired Flavia Wall. 

. “ I came up here to be quiet for a while, to rest and re- 

cover myself,” rather reproachfully answered Halcyone. 

“You rest? whoever heard of you being tired?” very 
incredulously’' exclaimed the whole party except the gentle 
Eulvia, wdio laid her hand caressingly upon Halcy’one’s 
head, as she said : 

“ Why yes, bless her little heart, she is tired — tired 
enough to cry about it; and no wonder. Here she has 
been riding, and dancing, and laughing, and talking for 
about six hours without stopping. She has been the life 
of the company all the evening. But it costs something, 
let me tell you, to be the life of the company. It tells 
pretty heavily upon one’s own life, I assure you.” 

“ Are you so tired as all that, Hal. ? ” asked a chorus of 
voices. 

“Tired? — w'hy to be sure she is. Look at her — she is 
ready to jry with fatigue now, love her dear soul,” said 
Eulvia, answering for her friend. 


246 


THE r A M I I. Y DOOM. 


Yes, I am tired and 1113^ head aches,’’ added Halcyone. 

“ Then all of \mu go down stairs, and I will stay with 
Hal. till she feels better,” ordered Fulvia. 

And her companions left the room as.noisily as thej’ had 
entered it. 

^‘ISTow then, Hal., what is it really?” confidentially in- 
quired Fulvia, sitting down by the side of the moping girl, 
and putting her arm around her waist, “come Hal., tell 
your Fulvia — what is it ? ” 

“My head aches, I told you” crosslj^ answered Hal- 
cyone. 

“ Yes, but when we girls say our head aches, we, ’most 
always, mean our heart aches. Now what malies your 
heart ache ? ” 

“ It’s my head, I tell jmu. If mj^ head gave me no more 
trouble than my heart, I should do well enough.” 

“ Poor little head — let me bathe it with some fine Florida 
water that I have in my caba ; it will be sure to relieve 
you.” 

“ Don’t pet me, please, Fulvia. I’m mad with myself 
and mad with everybody' else.” 

“ Mad with jmurself — what for, for goodness’ sake ?” 

“ For being such a fool.” 

“Lor ! if that's ai^y reason for being angr^’ with oneself, 
the whole world might be in a state of chronic indignation. 
Don’t you know, dear, we are each one of us ‘ such a fool ; ’ 
yet we don’t feel like laying violent hands on ourselves for 
our folly either.” 

“ Oh, don’t chaff. If 3'ou knew how worried I was you 
wouldn’t.” 

“ Well I won’t then ; but bless your little heart, won’t 
you tell your faithful Fulvia what worries you ? ” 

“ It is that — that — that shocking little wretch, Clarence 
Fairlie,” burst out Halcyone, whose heart was too full to 
keep her own counsel. 


IN A LOVE SCEAPE. 247 

Clarence Fairlie ! Why, what on earth has he done?” 
hastily inquired Fulvia. 

Made me promise or half promise to mar — mar — marry 
him,” gasped Halc^^one hj'sterically. 

Fulvia changed color, flushed and paled, and withdrew 
her arm from the waist of Halc3’one. And there was si-» 
lence betw’een them for a little while. 

You promised to marr}’' him,” at length said Fulvia, 
speaking in a low, slow, level tone, unlike her own voice. 

Half promised. And he made me, I tell you. He 
regularly bated me into it,” sobbed Halcyone. 

“ But how could he do that ? You are free,” inquired 
Fulvia, in the same soft, cold tone. 

‘‘ Frightened me nearly out of my wits — quite out of my 
wits, I think, since I promised — I mean half promised — to 
marry him.” 

“ I do not see how he could have frightened j'ou. You 
were here with j'our friends. He would not have done 3'ou 
any harm, even if j^ou had not chosen to accept him.” 

‘‘Ho, but he could have done himself fatal harm, as he 
threatened to do — tlie horrid little brute ! ” 

“Do you mean to say that he actually terrified you into 
giving him your promise ? ” 

“ Half promise, I tell you ! half promise ! ” repeated 
Halcyone, petulanth' and frowning. 

“Ah ! do you mean to keep ^’our ‘half’ promise? ” in- 
quired Fulvia, in the restrained tone and with a slight 
touch of irony. 

“ I don’t ‘ half’ know,” replied Halcyone, the humor 
natural to her breaking through all her distress and perplex- 
ity — “don’t ‘half’ know, but I ‘half’ think I shall ‘half’ 
keep it.” 

“ This is no subject for jest, Halcyone,” gravely remarked 
Fulvia. 

“ Don’t I know it isn’t ? And I’m not jesting half as 


248 THE FAMILY DOOM. 

much as I seem to be. I mean wliat I say, absurd as it 
seems. It is no joke to me, I tell you. I have heard of 
‘ cruel parients ’ compelling a girl to marry againt her will ; 
but I never in my life before heard of a little brute of a 
l>oy lover actually bulljdng a girl into promising him. It’s 
atrocious when one comes to think of it. AVhy the shock- 
ing little wretch threatened to shoot himself if I wouldn’t 
have him ! ” 

‘‘Oh, Heaven! has it come to that?” breathed Hulvia, 
in a deep tone. 

Halcyone scarcely heard her, but went on : 

“ What could I do ? I didn’t want to marry the little 
fellow. Neither did I want him to blow the chaff he calls 
his brains out. I won’t say I had ratlier die than marry 
the little brute ; because I don’t want to die at any price. 
I had rather marry him, or almost any other decent young 
man, than actually die, you know, or even see him die. I 
don’t want death to anybody, I know, on any terms at all.” 

“Well, what are you to do?” inquired Fulvia, in a 
Toice of forced calmness. 

“How do I know? Ho the best I can. I w^on’t break 
with him just yet, for fear of his doing himself a mischief ; 
but I will try to let him down easy ; and I hope in time he 
will get over his folly.” 

Having unburdened her bosom to her friend, Halcyone 
felt relieved. She got up and shook her dress down into 
pretty graceful folds, and went to the glass and twirled her 
curly hair into ringlets. 

But the trouble w\as only transferred. Fulvia was op- 
pressed with a gloom she could not easily shake off. My 
discerning reader has already discovered the cause. Fulvia 
Wall loved Clarence Fairlie. The prett}" boy whom Hal- 
cyone stigmatized as a horrid little wretch and a shocking 
little brute, was the darling of Fulvia’s heart and eyes. 
How this glorious beauty, in all the fulness of her rich and 


IN A LOVE SCRAPE. 


249 


ripe womanhood, could condescend to love this handsome 
but effeminate and immature youth is certainly one of the 
mysteries of the mischievous little god. 

While bird-like Halcyone stood trimming her plumage 
before the glass, and Fulvia sat brooding before the fire, 
there came another pattering of light feet upon the stair- 
case, and a bevy of girls burst in, exclaiming: 

“Supper is ready! Such a supper! Aint you coming 
down, Fulvia ? Is Halcyone better ? 

“Halcyone is better and we are coming down,” calmly 
replied Fulvia, who had a great deal of self-control. 

They all went down stairs together. 

In the hall below, they found the 3’oung men waiting to 
take them in to supper. 

Halcyone^s hand was immediately seized by her fair- 
haired Adonis, who drew it closely within his arm, and 
whispered as he led her awa^’. 

“ I am so glad 3’ou came down, my lady ! my queen I 
They told me jmur head ached ! Your dear head ! I was 
so anxious about you ! If jmu had not come down, I 
should have broken through strict etiquette, and gone up to 
look for you, my promised bride ! ” 

“ Oh, your promised fiddlestick! ” muttered Halcyone be- 
tween her teeth, “ and if ever I get out of ^mur way again, 
I bet ril keep out of it, you little idiot ! ” 

“ What are you saying, my love, my queen ? Your 
voice, like Cordelia’s, ‘was very soft, gentle, and low;’ 
but I love to hear its words. What were they, my angel ? ” 
murmured Clarence. 

“ I was saying that they are pressing upon me from be- 
hind, and we must get on faster to the supper-table,” 
snapped Halcyone in a voice that was certainly on this oc- 
casion neither ‘ soft, gentle, nor low.’ 

“ Ah ! ” sighed the bo^^'-lover in a mortified tone as he 
heard these fictitious words repeated. But perhaps if ho 


250 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


had heard the true words spoken, he would not have felt 
any better. 

He led her to the long table laid out in the long dining- 
room that was only used when there was a great deal of 
company in the house. And all her young companions fol- 
lowed, and sat down to as good a supper as the kind- 
hearted INIolly could provide in a hurry. Tliere were tea 
and coffee, cold ham and cold beef, bread and butter, cakes 
and sweetmeats. 

Make j^ourselves at home, my young ftiends. The un- 
expected delight of your fair company has but one draw- 
back— that we had not time to provide and furnish forth 
such a feast as we would like to lay before you,” said the 
courteous host, as he took his stand at the head of the ta- 
ble, with Madam Journe}'- sitting on his right hand, and 
Berenice Brooke on his left. 

“ Now, Major Hourie, what better could we have possi 
bly desired if you had had a week to prepare ? ” laughed 
the old lady. 

You’ve done capitally. Major ! YouVe got a treasure 
of a housekeeper ! ‘ Her price is above rubies.’ It’s well 

they come upon you for a surprise, instead of upon me ! Wo 
would have all had to dance in a cold room and gone home 
supperless, for Pink}'- Skinner ! ” exclaimed Captain Storms. 

All the other members of the company joined in prais- 
ing the repast set before them, and giving great credit to 
the housekeeper and housekeeping of the establishment. 

It was nearly nine o’clock when the surprise party ” 
had stormed Hourie Hall, and it was nearly twelve when 
they sat down to the supper that had been improvised for 
them in three hours. The night ride through the frosty 
air, and the after exercise of dancing and waltzing, had 
given all the young people a keen appetite. Tliey demol- 
ished the Major’s impromptu feast in a very flattering man- 
ner. No “ twelve baskets full,” or even twelve thimbles 
full remained of the ample provisions. 


IN A LOVE SCRAPE. 


251 


After supper, Madam Journey felt her age and infirmi- 
ties, which seldom made themselves known even to herself 
rather clamorous for repose. 

My dear,” she said to Berenice, as they left the draw- 
ing-room together, the old lady being on Major Hourie’s 
arm, and the young girl on her lover’s ; “ my dear I find 
supper at twelve, midnight, rather soporific. I shall go up 
stairs to lie down to rest. Come up with me for a mo- 
ment.” 

Berenice bowed her head. And when, in crossing the 
hall, they reached the front of the stairs, the old lady 
turned to her escort, and saying : 

^‘Good night, and many thanks, Major!” left his arm 
and went up stairs. 

Berenice bowed to her companion, and murmuring : 

I will return presently,” fallowed the elder lady. 

Berenice, my dear,” said the old lady as soon as she 
reached the room, and sat down to rest in one of the chairs; 

Berenice, my beloved child, this is the first time in which 
you have met that young man since I told you our family’s 
fate. And he has never left your side during the whole 
evening.” 

I know it, grandma ; but I do not want him to leave 
me,” truthfully answered the young lady. 

<^You were honest with him, I am sure. You told 
him ” 

told him I could never — never — never marr)" him, or 
any one else,” answered Berenice, solemnly. 

And you did well. You did just what I knew you 
would do, my brave girl.” 

Berenice bowed her head. 

I did my compelled duty,” she answered. 

“And you told him that after this communication he 
must give you up and go away. Yes, you did. I said 
that you would.” 


252 THE FAMILY DOOM. 

Ob, no, no, no, dear grandma, I never told him that 
I told him I could never marry him, indeed ; but I never 
told him to go away ; I could not, grandma — 1 could not. 
We love one another ; we wish to pass our whole lives to- 
gether and to be all in all to each other. But — but — if 
we cannot do so, we will, at least, each of us bo faithful to 
our fruitless love. We will live near each other and keep 
our souls alive, with the common comfort that the coldest 
friends have — of seeing one another once in a while.” 

“ My poor child ! my poor, poor Berry 1 And poor 
young man, too — I pity him as much as I pity you,” mur- 
mured Madam Journey. 

And I — I feel for him onl?/, not for myself. I would 
have been content with mj’’ fate if I had been fated to 
suffer alone ; but it is of him — of him that I think, and 
for him that I grieve,” exclaimed Berenice with impas- 
sioned earnestness. 

You do ? Then, my child, be noble ; be self-sacrific- 
ing ; be magnanimous ; as, alas ! alas ! none of your fore- 
mothers ever were before you. Send the young man from 
your side forth into the world again. Let him go free to 
seek his fortune there, in love as in honor and wealth ; and 
dedicate 5 murself to duty. Women, by reason of their 
purer nature and more comprehensive charities, can bear a 
life of celibacy better than men can. Bear 3 mur own cross 
bravely, my beloved Berenice, but let him go free to seek a 
happier lot,” said the old lady, as a holier light illumined 
her ej^es, than her descendant had ever seen there. 

Grandma! grandma ! I would bid him go to-morrow if 
I thought his happiness would be secured hy his departure ; 
but it would not — it would not — I know it and I feel it,” 
said Berenice, fervently, earnestly, solemnly. 

Ah ! my lord ! how is all this to end ? ” groaned the 
old lady, in distress. 

*^It seems to me, grandma, that we shall live till we die, 


IN A LOVE SCRAPE. 


25a 


Vane and in^'self, or perhaps till old age — not happy, be- 
cause we may not marry ; but not yet miserable, because 
we do not part.” 

“ Ah, my child ! my child ! my child ! if you go on in 
this way, long before old age shall come, one or the other 
of you will be dead, or worse — mad,” groaned Madam Jour- 
ney. 

‘^Kotso, not so, grandma! neither I nor Vane will prove 
so vveak as to let misfortune overcome us.” 

‘‘ I was so sure when you knew our family fate 

would send him away from your presence forever.” 

“ I thought at first of doing so; but when the test came, 
I could not, grandma, I could not !” 

Well, well, at last, one can but trust in Heaven,” said 
the old lady, gravel3\ 

‘‘ And now — will you let me help you to loosen your 
dress, so that you can lie down in comfort, dear grandma?” 

‘‘Yes, yes, loosen my dress. There, that will do, my 
dear. Ah, the infirmities of age, when mere weariness 
makes us momentarily forgetful of the most serious cares 
of life,” sighed Madam Journej’’, as, having been relieved 
b}'- Berenice of her outer garments, she lay down on one of 
the beds and resigned herself to sleep. 

“ A blessed provision of nature, dear grandma,” said the 
young lady, as she carefully tucked up her aged relative 
and left her to repose. 

Berenice lingered in the room until tlie audible breathing 
of Madam Journey assured her of the old lady’s profound 
slumbers, and then she went down stairs. 

Vandeleur, on the watch, received her at the foot of the 
stairs. 

“Madam had something to saj’’ obnoxious or otherwise to 
our love ?” said Vane, half inquiringly. 

“No; I cannot say that her words were either adverse 
or favorable to us. She thought that for jmur own sake I 


254 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


had better urge 3’^ou to leave the neighborliood. I could not 
do as she advised, Yane, and I told her so. We had an ex- 
planation, and she now knows that you are to remain.” 

“ Bless you, my dearest Berry ! there is no shadow of 
turning with you !” 

‘‘ No ; whj’' should there be, when I am happy only to 
look on you ! when I should be most unhappy to turn away 
from 3"ou ! ” 

A tumult of happ3" voices interrupted them. A bevy of 
merry girls were crossing the hall from the breakfast-room, 
Berenice and Vane fell in with the troupe and were carried 
with them to the dancing-room. 

The lovers sat down together on a corner sofa, happy 
enough for the moment in being near each other. 

The elder members of the part}", one after another, stole 
away and la}’- down on the sofas in the old parlor. 

The 3mung people danced all night. Only when morning 
light peeped into the windows did they allow the lamps to 
be put out and the tired fiddlers to rest from their labors. 

Then indeed Queen Fulvia directed one of her gentlemen 
in waiting to order the ro3’al equipage — the great freight- 
W"agon in which the court had travelled. And she and her 
wearied subjects went up stairs and woke up Madam Jour- 
ney and began to prepare to go home. 

But Major Hourie, courteous gentleman and hospitable 
host, hearing of the movement, put a stop to the whole pro- 
ceeding. His friends and guests must not, could not, should 
not go away without breakfast, which would be on the table 
in half an hour, he said. The company willingly consented 
to remain. They were none of them averse to a hot cup of 
coifee or tea, to start upon. In fact Madam Journey declared 
that she would not go without one. 

So poor, good-natured, over-worked Molly, who, between 
the late supper and the early breakfast, had been up all 
night cooking, put her shoulder to the wheel ” again, and 
spread a good table for the tired guests. 


]S E W S . 


255 


After breakfast the company was allowed to depart. 
They took leave of their kind host with many thanks for his 
ready welcome, and many warm shakings of his open hand. 

“ Come and surprise me as often as you can make it con- 
venient, Queen Fulvia. I shall alwa^^s consider my poor 
country-house highly honored by the presence of your maj- 
esty and court, said the Major, as the beauty took leave of 
him. 

“ Ko, no ; I put my veto on that. One such a night of 
dissipation in a season is quite enough for these young folks, 
Major,” said Madam Journey. ‘‘Even the presence of an 
old woman and a priest could hardly sanction the frequent 
recurrence of this frolic,” she added, nodding her head at her 
host as he lifted her to her seat in the wagon. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

NEWS. 

What see you in those papers that yon lose 
So much complexion ? Why, what read you there 
That hath so cowarded and chased your blood 
Out of appearance ? — Shakespeare. 

The day was a glorious one, clear, cold, and crisp ; the 
ground was still covered with hard, frozen snow ; the woods 
were still clothed with their foliage of icicles ; and the 
whole landscape glittered under the light of the winter sun 
that shone down with dazzling splendor from the unclouded 
deep-blue sky. 

The horses were fresh, and the sleigh flew over the whito 
ground. 

It crossed the creek again in safety, and stopped at Widow- 
ville, to deposit Madam Journey and her great-grand- 
daughter. There were more hand-shakings here and more 
invitations warmly exchanged. 


256 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


Vane tried to get a word apart with Berenice, but the 
crowd was too great, and compressed into too small a com- 
pass to make such a pleasure possible. A mutual glance 
full of devotion, a mutual pressure of the hands at parting, 
and a low-breathed farewell was all that passed between 
them. And Berenice followed her grandmother up the ter- 
race stairs, and disappeared within the house. 

The sleigh started again and flew on over the crusted snow 
through morning sunlight, until it readied St. Kosalie, 
where it stopped to set down Father Bonhomme; then it 
sped on again until it reached Stormy Point. 

Come on. Come on all of you and finish the day with 
me!’^ heartily exclaimed old Captain Storms, as the sleigh 
drew up before his old house. 

“Yes, and bring down Pinky Skinner’s wrath upon us. 
Not if we know it,” laughed Fulvia. 

“Oh, Pinky Skinner be blessed. Her bite is not 

half as bad as her bark,” replied the captain. 

“ Now, heaven forbid it should be. In that case it 
would be hydrophobia and certain death,” laughed Fulvia. 

“ Come in ; come in,” urged the captain. 

But the queen preferred to continue her progress, and so 
the old man and his own partj’ had to take leave and let 
them go. 

They found a fine fire burning in the chimney place of 
the old parlor, and Pinky Skinner assisted b^^ her maids, 
setting the table for dinner. The housekeeper was in 
better humor than could have been hoped. 

“ There is a packet of letters and papers come to the 
post-office for Mr. Vandeleur,” she .said. 

“ Ah, thank you verj' much. I was waiting anxiously 
for letters,” eagerly answered the young man. 

“ Here they are,” she added, taking the parcel from the 
mantel-piece and handing it to the guest, who immediately 
carried it to a distant window to examine. 


NEWS. 


257 


^Did nothing come for me ? ” inquired the captain. 

No ; not a thing, not even a newspaper.” 

‘‘ That’s strange, too. I haven’t heard from Murdock 
and Morphy since writing to them about the capsize. And 
I ought, at least, to have got a letter by this mail.” 

Well, you didn’t get one, so that’s all about it,” curtly 
remarked Miss Skinner. 

“ No, it isn’t all about it, either. Who went to the post- 
office ? ” 

“ Do you suspect anj'body of stealing your letter ? ” 
sharply demanded Miss Skinner. 

Certainly not. But if any of those careless colored 
boys went after the letters they would be as apt as not to 
lose one or two without ever saying anything about it. 
Who did go ? ” 

Nobody w'ent from here. Pike Turner happened to be 
in at Costin’s store buying a knife, when the mail came in, 
and as there was a parcel for Mr. Vandeleur, and Pike was 
on his way to the house here, he took charge of it,” answered 
Miss Skinner. 

‘^Oh, then, that’s all right, and Pike is a jewel of the 
first water. But where is he now ? ” 

Sitting in the chimney-cowier of the back kitchen.” 

In the back kitchen ! Pinky Skinner ! ” exclaimed the 
captain, wrathfully. 

Well, he wanted to smoke his pipe, and I wasn’t going 
to let him smoke in here, that you may depend on.” 

To put my friend. Pike Turner, in the back kitchen to 
smoke! why, I say he may smoke in every room in the 
house, if he wants to. Tell him to come in here directly. 
Never mind— I’ll go and fetch him myself.” 

And the cajdain, bravely defying Miss Skinner, trotted 
off towards the kitchen ; but suddenly remembering hi® 
other guest, trotted back again, and exclaimed : 

16 


258 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


** Hey ! I say. You don^t mind smoke — do you Yande- 
leur?” 

Vane looked up from the letter he was reading. His 
face was even paler than usual ; his expression was troubled ; 
he scarcely heard the purport of the captain’s question. 

Good gracious Mr. Vandeleur, wliat is the matter ? I 
hope you have heard no ill news from your friends?’^ 
anxiously inquired the captain. 

“I have very unexpected news; I must leave you at 
once/’ replied the young man, gravely. 

Leave us at once ! bless my soul alive, why must you ? 
Anybody ill ? Anybody dead ? ” exclaimed the captain in 
consternation. 

^‘Ho one sick or dead, thank Heaven. I hare a letter 
from the oldest friend I have in the world. I will not con- 
ceal from you that, soon after my arrival here, I wrote to 
him imparting a purpose that \yas very dear to my heart, 
and asking him to send me certain credentials necessary to 
forward that purpose.” 

“IJmph! umph ! lean guess what that purpose was,” 
chuckled the captain. 

But, while sending me the required papers, he writes 
and ” 

“Raises objections ! Ah, ha ! — ‘ The course of true love 
never did ’ — ^mu know ! ” 

“Implores me to proceed no farther in my purpose until I 
see him, when he will put me in possession of certain facts 
in my own history hitherto hidden from me.” 

“ Umph ! humph ! m3"stery ! ” 

“ I tell you this frankly. It is all I know. I cannot 
even guess the nature of the communication my friend has 
to make me, or how it can possibly affect the dear purpose 
of my heart. I only know that my friend is true as truth 
and earnest as death, and would neither deceive nor trifle 
with me.” 


NEWS. 259 

Since you are so very candid with me, who is this trusty 
old friend of yours ? 

A very old man ; my sometime teacher — the Venerable 
Bishop Waldemar,” gravely replied Vandeleur. 

“Wald ! what? Not — you don’t mean the Rever- 

end John Waldemar?” 

“ Yes, I do.” 

“ Why, bless my soul alive, he used to he the parish-priest 
at St. Rosalie’s.” 

“ Yes ; and he was afterward professor of languages in a 
Catholic college; and, later on, president of the college; 
and, last of all, Bishop Waldemar.” 

“ Well, well, what a strange coincidence that you should 
have been capsized here right upon the coast of your old 
master’s first parish,” marvelled the captain. 

“ Yes ; he evidentlj’- thought it strange, and he entreats 
me to return without loss of time, and hear what he has to 
tell me.” 

“ And you must go, of course ? ” 

“ Yes, I suppose so ; hut I must see the ladies of Widow- 
ville first,” said the young man uneasily, remembering his 
positive pledge given to his beloved Berenice not to leave 
the neighborhood, — “ I must go to Widowville to-morrow, 
and on the day after I must start on ray journey.” 

“ I don’t see how j’ou are to go wdth the high roads in 
the state they now are.” 

“If the mail can travel to Henniker, I can travel from 
it by the same road and means,” answered Vane. 

And then, as Halcyone entered the room, followed by 
Dick and Harry, and as the two maids came in with the 
boiled ham and the roast turkey, the conversation was 
changed. 

And soon after they all sat down to dinner — Pike Turner 
among them. 

Immediately after dinner Vane Vandeleur went to his 


2G0 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


own room, where he passed the whole afternoon in making 
preparations for his journey. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

VANE DEMANDS THE SECRET. 

I have an ear that craves for everything 

That hath the slightest sign or omen in it — Joanna Baillib. 

Very early the next morning Vane Vandeleur, with a 
sleigh and horse, loaned by Captain Storms, sped over the 
frozen snow on his way to Widowville. 

He drew up at the foot of the lowest terrace, where he 
was saluted b}" a hurrah from all the negro boys who had 
run out from their quarters at the sound of the sleigh-bells, 
and by a chorus of barks from the dogs which had followed 
at their heels. 

He threw his reins to the nearest boy, jumped from the 
sleigh and hurried up the steps to the front door, which was 
opened before he had time to knock. 

“De lors, Marse Wane, sir ! dis you ? ’Deed, lors knows 
I’se monsous glad to see you ! ’deed is I ! Come in out’n de 
cole, chile ! ” grinned old Euripides very hospitably. 

Thank you, old man. I hope the ladies are well ? ” 

Hi, Marse Wane, whenebber our ladies sick ?” 

And I hope they are at home ? ” 

“Lor, Marse Wane, who gwine abroad sich wedder as 
dis, ’cept dey’s lunatics? ” 

“ Thanks, You Rip, for the imputation ! ” laughed the 
young man. 

“ Cuss my jaw ! I nebber meant you, Marse Wane ! It 
was only my hastuous way ob speakin’. I meant de ladies 1 
But do come in out’n de cole,” said the old man stretching 
wide the door. 


VANE DEMANDS THE SECRET. 


261 


Vane smiled and entered. 

De ladies is all into dere sitting-room, sar ; and dey’ll 
be monsous glad to see you, ’deed will dey, chile. You 
bet ! ” said Euripides, leading the way to the parlor. 

“ Not there, not there. Show me to the drawing-room,’’ 
quickly requested the visitor. 

Sartainly, Marse Wane ! sartainly ! to any room into 
dis house, sar,” responded the negro, profuselj’’ bowing and 
opening a door on the opposite side of the hall. 

Now, take my compliments to the Indies, and say that I 
should be pleased to see Mrs. Brooke for a few moments if 
she will be so good as to receive me,” said Vane, throwing 
himself into the arm-chair before the fire to wait for the 
coming of his intended mother-in-law. 

Meanwhile the widows, seated around their circular work- 
table, had been warned of an approaching visitor bj" the 
silver ringing of the sleigh-bells. 

They all looked up to see who might be coming. 

“It’s that young man, Vandeleur, again!” exclaimed 
Mrs. Brooke in a vexed tone. 

“ Yes, so much for mother’s invitation,” grumbled Mrs. 
Dering. 

“ Well, my ladies, look I as long as I have this humble 
house over my head, its doors shall be open to the deserving 
stranger,” calmly replied Madam Journey. 

“ Berenice said nothing, but bent her head over her work, 
and with a slightly heightened color waited breathlessly. 

In a few moments they heard the visitor enter, and in a 
few more old Euripides opened the door and announced : 

“ Marster Wane Wanity, madam.” 

“Show him in here, then,” said Madam Journey. 

“ He ’dines for to coine, ma’am. He ’quests for to see 
Miss Bosamond werry particular.” 

“ Me ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Brooke rising with her work in 
her hand. 


tt62 


THE F A M I L ■y DOOM. 


“ Yes, ma’am, he wants to see you, Miss, werry partic- 
ular, all alone by yourself, ef so be you will fabor of him 
to that degree.” 

“Well, I suppose I must go and see what he wants, 
said Mrs. Brooke, putting down her needle-work and brush- 
ing the thread from her dress. 

“ He has probably brought those letters of which he spoke 
to you,” observed Madam Journey. 

“ Very likely,” sighed Bosamond. 

“But his letters can make no sort of difference in our 
treatment of his suit to Berenice ! Humph, indeed ! his 
letters may be forgeries ! ” sneered ]\Irs. Bering. 

“ His letters are not forgeries, but genuine, no doubt — 
that is, if he has any letters. But whether he has or not, 
as you sa)^, Hortensia, they can make no sort of difference,” 
said Madam Journey, gravely. 

Then Mrs. Brooke, having slightly arranged her dress, 
crossed the hall and entered the long drawing-room, where 
her visitor waited. 

“ Good morning, Mr. Vandeleur I You wished to see me, 
the servant says,” began Bosamond Brooke, plunging 
straight into the subject. 

“ Good morning, and many thanks, madam. I am glad to 
see you well,” said Vane, rising and bowing. 

“ Sit down and make yourself comfortable, and now tell 
me what’s the matter,” said Bosamond, waiving him to 
one of the chimney-corner arm-chairs, while she herself 
took the other. 

“ I am about to leave the neighborhood, my dear Mrs. 
Brooke,” began Vane, in a gentle and serious voice, as he 
fixed his grave, dark eyes pleadingly on hers. 

“ Indeed / I thought you had decided to live in this 
neighborhood,” exclaimed Bosamond, a little sarcastically, 
although she was taken by surprise. 

“ I have so decided, Madam,” smiled Vane ; “ and, more- 


VANE DEMANDS THE SECRET. 263 

over, I have pledged my word to your fair daughter to that 
elfect. But, with the leave of absence that I am sure my 
liege lady will accord me, I must go home for a few days on 
very particular business.” 

Bosamond Brooke bowed, a little ironically, but said 
nothing in reply. 

Before going, I wished to see you, and to come to some 
happier understanding with you.” 

Bosamond Brooke slowly shook her head, but still re- 
mained silent waiting for what further he might have to 
say. 

You may remember the letters I promised to procure 
for your satisfaction, madam ? ” 

Yes, I do, of course ; you have brought them, I sup- 
pose.” 

“ I have.” 

It is a pity, for they can not affect your cause in any 
way.” 

I hope otherwise. And I beg you to reserve your de- 
cision, madam, until you see my letters. I wrote to my 
former preceptor, and my dearest living friend, to procure 
their credential for me, and^ e has done so.” 

Indeed, I feel very sorry that any one should have 
taken so much useless trouble.” 

‘‘But I am sure that you will not think it so, madam, 
when you have seen them,” said Vane, with a bow and a 
smile, as he took a parcel from his breast-pocket, and began 
to look over it contents. 

Bosamond sighed and sank back in her seat, and resigned 
herself to be bored. 

“Here,” said Vane, selecting one document, “here is a 
letter from the governor of Lousiana, who was an old friend 
of my late father. And here,” he continued, taking up an- 
other, “is one from the mayor of Hew Orleans, who has 
knowji me from childhood. And this,” he added, indicating 
a third, “ is from the Archbishop of •” 


264 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


<< Oil, Mr. Vaiideleur!” here interrupted the lady, with a 
deprecating gesture, feel mortified that you should think 
it necessary to show all these recommendations, just as if 
you were ” 

— “A servant seeking a situation,” laughed Vane. 

— A politician applying for a post,” amended Rosa- 
mond. 

‘‘ Well, I am applying for a post ; a post of the highest 
honor, glory, and happiness — a post more to be desired 
than that of king consort to a queen regent ; the post of 
husband to the loveliest lady in the land,” said the lover 
earnestly, while his face was radiant with enthusiasm. 

“ Tut, tut, tut,” murmured Rosamond, shaking her head. 

Come, dear Mrs. ik’ooke. I, a perfect stranger, am 
seeking from you a mark of tlie greatest confidence — a pearl 
of the highest price — tlie hand of your fair, only child. 
What less could I do but call upon all who know me to 
come forward and endorse me?” 

Yes, yes, that’s all very well. Nothing could be 
"better. I mean to say tliat what you have said and done 
about the credentials is quite correct ; but my poor, dear 
young gentleman, I regret to add that it is quite in vain.” 

“ Madam ! madam ! do not say so ! Your reiteration of 
those words disturbs me in spite of myself,” said Vane, 
losing all the calmness that had characterized him during 
this interview. 

I do not say it from myself. Heaven help j^ou, Mr. 
Vandeleur, it is not I who object to you. Your courtship 
of my daughter was rather sudden, to be sure, but if she 
.ikes you, and the letters prove satisfactory, why, as far*as 
I am concerned, I should be willing to sanction your be- 
trothal to Rerenice, under certain conditions.” 

“ Madam, I am willing to submit to any conditions you 
might propose ! ” warmly exclaimed Vane. 

Poor fellow, I do pity you. It is perfectly useless, I 


VANE DEMANDS THE S E C R E T . 2G5 


tell you. If you had tlie strongest possible testimonials 
from the best possible people^ backed by the most earnest 
efforts of mine to forward your suit, and if you were will- 
ing to submit to the severest sort of ordeal, still I tell you 
that it would be all in vain,’^ said Kosamond Brooke, 
wringing her hands nervously, and almost ready to cry 
with vexation. 

“ But whj^ ? But why ? You are her mother. And 
surely if she loves me, and you favor my suit, our happiness 
will — inust be secured,” persisted the lover. 

But I tell you no ! Ko matter how real your merits 
may be, or how well Berenice may like you, or how kindly 
I may feel disposed towards j’ou, I can do nothing for you.” 

‘‘But why? But why? Oh, madam, I must know. I 
have the right to know. love, my sufferings give me 

that right. Why is it then, with the affection of my be- 
loved Berenice, and the favor of her dear mother — her only 
living parent, my suit must be so fruitless. 

“ Because you have arrayed against you the two strongest 
wills and greatest powers of the household — Dorothy 
Jernyngham and Berenice Brooke, — the oldest and the 
3'^oungest of the family group. To withstand either of 
them singly would be hard enough ; to overcome them to- 
gether would be simply impossible.” 

“ And how does Mrs. Dering stand affected towards 
me ? ” 

“I think she would be neutral. I know she w'ould not 
be implacable. People call my mother proud, haughty, 
domineering. She is nothing of the sort. She is only tall 
aud stout and rather silent.” 

“ But to get back, to get back to the point that interests 
me so much. Why, oh why is it that in Berenice, who sin- 
cerely returns my love, and in Madam Journey, who is 
my very kindest friend where all are kind — why is it, I ask, 
that in them I should find the lirmest opponents to my 
happiness ? ” 


266 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


“Perhaps they may tell you. They never would tell me. 
Even when I, having a soft heart ” 

— “Heaven bless the soft heart,” murmured Vane. 

“ Or a soft head, as my grandmother insists, even when 
I pitied you two young dreamers, and was inclined to plead 
for you, I was silenced by an immutable ^ impossible ^ ' 
from both.” 

“ Heaven help me ! What can the reason be ? And 
why must I, who am most concerned by it — why must I 
not know it ? ” groaned the lover in a despairing tone. 

“ I cannot even tell you that. I wish I could,” exclaimed 
Bosamond, with tears starting in her kind blue eyes. 

“ But I WILL know what this mystery is. Dear Mrs. 
Brooke, forgive me when I say, and mean what I say — that 
I WILL know. I know that you sympathize with me by 
those gentle tears. Drop no more, dear lady. Be sure 
that having her affection and your favor, I will overcome all 
obstacles that may stand between me and my love. You 
will let me see dear Berenice before I go?” 

“To be sure I wdll. But ah, Mr. Vandeleur, m}^ best 
advice to you is this : When you do go, staj^ away. For- 
get Berry, and let her forget you.” 

“But that would be impossible. I would not if I could. 

I could not if I would.” 

“ Oh, yes, you can and must. Occupy yourself with 
something else. You said that you were called home upon 
important business. I hope it will be interesting enough 
also to absorb all your thoughts.” 

“ It will be sufficiently interesting, so far as mystery 
goes,” sadly smiled the lover — “ for certainly there is son;e- 
thing rather mysterious in the manner in which Father 
W aldemar ” 

— “ Father Waldemar ! ” exclaimed Eosamond Brooke, 
with a sudden catching of her breath. 

“Yes. madam, Father John Waldemar, formerly parish 


VANE DEMAND THE SECRET. 


2G7 


priest here, as I am told ; and now Bishop Waldemar. I 
do not wonder you should be startled to find that your 
newest acquaintance and your oldest friend should have 
been master and pupil for so many years, said Vane, fixing 
his fine eyes upon Rosamond’s face — by which he saw now 
that she was something more than startled. 

She was shocked, overwhelmed. She had not another 
word to say, but sat panic-stricken, gazing on him. 

The unfinished story of Rosamond Brooke’s fatal mar- 
riage and of Father Waldemar’s innocent agenc}’’ in bring- 
ing it about, rushed upon Vane’s recollection and he thought 
he understood her panic. 

He was about to apologize, but he quickly perceived that 
Mrs. Brooke wished to conceal her agitation, so he afiected 
not to notice it. 

She arose and walked to the window, looked out and 
uttered some inanities about the weather and then came 
back to her seat, sa3nng : 

I beg your pardon, you were about to tell me some- 
thing.” 

‘‘ I was remarking that when I wrote to my old friend to 
procure proper letters of recommendation for me, telling 
him at the same time that I wished to use them in propos- 
ing for the hand of a lovely young lady of the neighbor- 
hood ” 

I beg your pardon, but — did you mention her name to 
him ? ” 

“ Yes, madam, certainl}'-,” said Vane, raising his eyebrows 
in surprise. 

Well — go on. I interrupted j’ou.” 

When I had communicated thus much to my corres- 
pondent he answered my letter by sending the enclosed 
credentials, but at the same time imploring me to proceed 
no further in ni}’’ purpose until I could go immediately 
home to him and hear something that he had to communi- 
cate upon the subject.” 


268 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


« My ! In the extremity of her agitation, Kosa- 

mond uttered the name of the Most High. 

Madam I distress you!” exclaimed Vane, in almost 
equal disturbance, as he looked at her pale and troubled 
face. “ I distress you ! I am most unhappy in doing so.” 

Hush ! never mind; you could not help it,” replied Mrs, 
Brooke, striving and partly controlling her agitation. 
“ Proceed. You said your preceptor conjured you to go no 
further in your addresses to my daughter, until you should 
hear something important that he has to tell you, and yet 
you disobey his injunction and come this morning to seal 
your engagement. Is that right ? ” 

“ Yes madam, for having jmur good opinion and her love, 
I am resolved that nothing on earth shall separate me from 
your daughter. I shall go and hear what my old friend has 
to say. Very likely he will tell me of some cause existing 
in my own self, or circumstances that should prevent my 
marriage,” said Vane with an incredulous smile. But 
what ever he may say it shall not prevent it,” he added. 

“ Ho not be too sure of that,” observed Mrs. Brooke. 

Though for myself, I who am the mother of Berenice, and 
have examined these credentials of 3’ours, I see nothing 
which should eventually prevent ^mur marriage. Just now 
her youth would cause some delay. But what am I talking 
of? Madam Journey and Berenice have both decided it to 
be impossible.” 

Then the impossible shall come to pass,” said Vano 
with a grave smile. “ And now may I see Berenice ? ” he 
inquired. 

Mrs. Brooke had not entirely recovered her calmness. 
She was still pale and trembling. 

“ You shall see Berenice. I promise you that. But 
first I want you to see my grandmother. She is not only 
the mistress of the house and the head of the famil}', but 
she has the clearest intellect and the strongest will in it.” 


VANE DEMANDS 'J' II E SECRET. 269 


Very well, I will see Mrs. Jernyngham with pleasure.” 

Rosamond left the room. 

Rive minutes afterwards Mrs. Jernyngham entered. 

Vane arose to meet her, and they shook hands with 
great cordiality. 

“Although I hardly know whether to regard you as friend 
or foe,” said the young man with a smile that seemed to 
modify his words. 

“ Regard me as a friend, Mr. Vandeleur. And as most 
your friend in opposing your marriage with one of our 
family,” replied the old lady very gravely. 

“ That will be hard. But I hope your friendship will 
express itself in a more agreeable manner when you read 
these letters.” 

“I am sure that your letters can make no difference. 
Rosy told me that you wished me to see them.” 

“ And told you nothing more ? ” 

“ No.” 

Here Vane produced the testimonials from three high 
official dignitaries of City, Church and State. 

Madam Journey put on her spectacles and read them with 
much patience and deliberation. 

“They are good. They speak well of you,” she said 
W'hen she finished them. 

Then he showed her the letter from Bishop Waldemar. 

She seemed quite as much astonished, though not so 
much distressed, as Rosamond had been. 

“ So he was your master in languages in college ? And 
he used to be our pastor here. How strange the rencount- 
ers in this world ! What has he to tell you, I wonder? ” 

“I can form no idea upon the subject. Madam. But I 
can assure you of two matters : first, that whatever the 
secret is, you shall be made acquainted with it ; and secondly, 
that it shall not bar my marriage with your lovely grand- 
daughter if she will accept me.” 


270 


T H E FAMILY DOOM. 


Mr. Yandeleur, in the first place, perhaps I do know 
the secret. If so, when you also hear it you will find out 
that it must bar your marriage with Berenice Brooke.’^ 

And I tell you dear lady, with all respect to 3murself, 
that it shall not ! Nothing shall ! So long as I have the 
love of Miss Brooke and the approbation of her mother and 
yourself, nothing under Heaven shall separate us. Forgive 
me for saying this.’^ 

There is nothing to forgive, my poor young friend, but 
there is much to pity. I do not know whether the matter 
that Father Waldemar has to communicate to you has any- 
thing to do with our family secret. Upon further reflection 
I rather think that it has not. I do not see how he could 
have become acquainted with the story — a story ignorantly 
surmised and rumored about by several, but perfectly known 
to only three living persons besides nij'-self — Father Igna- 
tius, old Mr. Basil Wall, and Berenice herself.” 

Madam,” said Vane, a little impatientlj’-, ‘‘I have heard 
overmuch and yet not quite enough of this vague something 
that, it is insisted, must prevent my union with your fair 
grand-daughter. I have been repeatedly assured that 
this obstacle exists, but have been forbidden to inquire into 
its nature. Now I venture respectful!}" to suggest, that in 
a matter that so seriously affects mj" future happiness, and 
the happiness of one to whom my whole heart is devoted, I 
should be made acquainted with all.” 

I think so, too,” said Madam Journey. ^^And you 
shall know it.” 

Will you tell me ? ” 

** No, not I ; I could not.” 

« Will Miss Brooke ? ” 

By no means. It is not a story for her to tell.” 

Then Father Ignatius ? ” 

He would not. He most strongly disapproves of the 
story being kept alive, as he says, by repetition. He will 


VANE DEMANDS THE SECRET. 271 

blame me when he finds out that I have told it to Berenice, 
and authorized its being repeated to you.’’ 

Who, then, will tell it me ? ” 

“ Old Mr. Ba^l Wall.” 

I do not know him.” 

But you know his nieces. And I will give you a 
letter of introduction to him authorizing him to tell you 
this family history. I will write it to-day. Stay and dine 
with us if you have time.” 

“Thanks, my dear Mrs. Jernyngham. You ere my 
friend now ; and I beg your pardon for ever having seemed 
to doubt it,” said Vane, gratefully and penitentl3\ 

“ Well, now, come into our room. We are all at work 
there, and it will be pleasanter for you. I will take you in, 
and then go and order your horse and sleigh put up.” 

Vane would much rather have remained in the drawing- 
room if only Madam Journey would be kind enough to 
have sent Berenice to keep him company. But as it was he 
could only feel grateful for the good already granted, and 
hopeful that fortune might still favor him with a private 
interview with Berenice. He followed Madam Journey 
into the sitting-room, where he was politely greeted by Mrs. 
Dering, and shyly welcomed Berenice. 

“ Mr. Vandeleur wdll stay and dine with us,” said the old 
lady. And then she left the room to give her orders. 

Vane had been too much badgered and bothered in his 
love affairs, to have the least false delicacy left. So, after 
having talked pleasantly with all the ladies for a little while, 
he frankly went over to Berenice, and took his seat b}' her 
side, at one of the far distant front windows. 

“ Dear love, I want jmu to read that letter,” he said, put- 
ting Father Waldemar’s epistle into her hands. 

She glanced at him inquiringl}^, and turned to look at 
the signature. It brought no surprise into her face. She 
had no recollection of the priest who had left the neighbor- 


272 


T H E F A M I L Y DOOM. 


hood before she had completed her second year. It is 
doubtful if she ever heard his name, since it was one asso- 
ciated with so deep a tragedy, as to be scarcely ever men- 
tioned in the house, and never without pa^. 

“ Your friend wishes you to come and see him before 
commiting ^"ourself by any engagement here ?” 

Yes, my beloved, as you see,'^ whispered Vane. 

And you will go ! ” 

That shall be as my sovereign lad}'- pleases. If she bids 
me stay, I will disregard the letter and stay. If she bids 
me go, I will go and hear what the old man has to say. 
But in any case I will return speedily and remain here near 
her for the rest of my life, or until I can have the happi- 
ness of taking her as my bride to my own Southern home.’^ 

“Oh, Vane! dear Vane! what sacrifices you are willing 
to make for me ! But how selfish I am in accepting them. 
Ah ! how selfish is my love at its best ! But I could not 
bear to part with you forever. Bather death than such 
a desolation,” she murmured in a tone so low that her words 
scarcely reached his ears, and certainly did not penetrate 
those of others.” 

“ But m}'- beloved,” he whispered, “ I have told you be- 
fore, that this is no sacrifice ; it is the only comfort fate has 
left me. And I would far rather live in this neighborhood, 
among strangers in some old farm house, an exile and a 
bachelor for the rest of my life, to be near you^ even though 
you will not marry me, than to live in the loveliest climes 
among the most devoted friends, and marry the fairest 
woman in the world ! But — you don’t believe me Bere- 
nice ! ” 

“ Oh ! I do, I do I And I hear you both in joy and sor- 
row. Joy, dearest, that you love me so trul}'- ! Sorrow, 
that I have not the moral heroism to send j^ou away from 
me, and refuse this offering of all your days,” she mur- 
mured in almost'fainting tones. 


VANE DEMANDS THE SECRET. 273 


^ But you will call it a sacrifice, when I assure you that 
it is a consolation. Could / live happily apart from y^ou ? 
Look into your own heart and answer me. Judge my love 
b}’’ your own, and then see whether I do not tell you the 
truth, he whispered earnestly. 

8he turned to him with a radiant brow. 

“ Oh, Vane ! 3"Our w^ords make me so happ}^ They al- 
ways do that, how'ever ! It w^as your happiness I thought 
of most, not my own ! Oh, Vane ! how much I wish 1 
could giye ^-ou mj’^ hand ! 

‘‘ My dearest, listen. I have had a long talk with your 
mother, and with Madam Joiirne}’’. Your mother is favor- 
able to my wishes. Madam Journej’^ is also my friend, 
though for the secret reason that you and she knosv, she is 
opposed to our union. But this is wdiat I have to say. 
Madam has decided to make known this mysteiy'' to me.’^ 

^^She wdll tell you!” exclaimed Berenice, speaking 
under her breath and in great surprise. 

She thinks that I have a right to know^ it.” 

And so you triilj’’ have ! But she has told no one but 
me, and she forbids me to repeat the story even to you. 
Ah ! I was not likely to do it ! But she will tell ^mu her- 
self? ” 

‘‘ISTo, not herself! She will give me a letter to Mr. 
Basil Wall, authorizing him to give me all information on 
the subject.” 

“ He know^s more than any one else, I believe — more 
even than Madam Journey knows.” 

And now, Berenice, this is wdiat I have to ask, — if, 
when I shall have heard this story, it shall seem to be no 
obstacle in mi/ eyes, then will you. withdraw your refusal to 
be my wdfe ? ” 

Vane, dearest, I cannot reply to that question until you 
have heard the secret.” 

17 


274 THE FAMILY DOOM. 

Well, love, I can answer only this ; with me it shall be 
no obstacle.” 

She looked up at his face with eyes full of tears and a 
smile full of love, sorrow, gratitude ; but she made no 
reply. 

Madam Journey re-entered the room, and accidentally or 
purposely took a seat rather nearer the lovers than was con- 
venient for their tete-a-tete. Then the conversation be- 
came general. 

Dinner was served at two ; and as the afternoons were 
now very short and the first hours of the evening very 
dark, because the moon did not rise until nine o’clock, Vane 
took his leave. He had no chance of a private farewell to 
Berenice. She stood with all her friends around her, when 
he arose to bid them good-bye. He could only press her 
hand as he took it, and gaze into her eyes, with all his soul 
in their expression. And then, armed with the letter of in- 
troduction to Mr. Basil Wall, he got into his sleigh and 
started for Stormy Point. 

It was a very roundabout route, as the reader already 
knows. As the bird flies, Stormy Point was distant only 
about ten miles from Henniker. But it was on the other 
side of the creek ; and the only way to get there was to go 
four or five miles up stream, cross, and then go four or 
five miles down stream to the mouth of the creek, and then 
turn and run ten miles down the shore of the bay to the 
Point. 

Vandeleur did all this in about two hours, and reached 
the Point at early candle-light, just as the Hail Maries had 
put the supper on the table. 

^‘Here you are!” cordially exclaimed the old captain, 
rushing out at the sound of the sleigh-bells, and lifting up‘ 
both arms in his joyous welcome. By George, how Pve 
missed you to-day ! I saj’, the old house looks jolly with its 
red fire light shining through the windows — don’t it now ? 


VANE DEMANDS THE SECRET. 275 

I never like the old place better than when I’m coming 
home to it on a cold winter night, with the snow on the 
ground outside and the fire light shining redly through the 
window inside. But come in before you say another word. 
It’s sharp, talking out here in the cold, and Pinky Skinner 
has got roast pheasants for supper ; and if we don’t get in 
to the table in time to eat them hot, her tongue will be a 
little sharper than the frost. So don’t say another word, 
but come right in.” 

Now, of course, Yane had not said one word yet. The 
old man had done all the talking for both. 

Here, Boobj-debil, come take this horse and sleigh 
around to the stables,” roared the captain. And an old 
negro man, whom Vane had never seen before, came run- 
ning from some obscure corner, and took the reins as Yane 
left the sleigh. 

“ Here, take your hat and coat off in the hall, and come 
right in to supper. Don’t delay to go up to your room. 
Do as the cat does. Don’t wash your hands till after 
meals.” 

“Please may I speak now?^^ laughed Yane, as having 
relieved himself of his outer garments, they were about to 
enter the warm supper-room. 

“ Yes, of course ; who hinders you ? ” 

“Well, then, who, or what on earth is Boobydebil ? 

“ My old man servant, whom some insane sponsor in bap- 
tism named after Bobadilla, but whom the natives have 
Boobydebil.” 

“ Bobadilla ? ” inquired Yane, in perplexity. 

“ Yes, the old curse who once governed Hispaniola, and 
who sent Christopher Columbus to Spain in chains, you 
know. Here we are ! ” 

They were in the warm, lighted room in the midst of 
which stood the cheerful supper-table with its smoking deli- 
cacies. All the captain’s household were assembled, and 


276 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


they all cordially greeted the returning guest, and wel- 
comed him back again. 

They gathered around the table, and the captain, not 
having the fear of Pinky Skinner before his eyes, made 
many inquiries concerning the ladies of Henniker, all of 
which were satisfactorily answered by Vane. 

Presently, however, the guest startled his host and every- 
body else b}^ suddenly inquiring : 

Is it too late for me to make a call on Mr. Basil 
Wall ? 

What ? Say that over again ! ’’ exclaimed the captain, 
who had heard the question, but really did not believe his 
own ears. 

“ I asked if it was too late for me to make a call on Mr. 
Basil Wall.’’ 

“ Why, man alive, what should take you to see him at 
this hour of the night?” inquired the old man in aston- 
ishment. 

It is scarcely six o’clock, and my time is so short here 
that I would like to see him to-niglit, so as to save a day if 
possible.” 

“ But you are not acquainted with Mr. Wall, so how can 
you have such pressing business with him ? ” bluntly de- 
manded the captain. 

I am the bearer of a letter from Mrs. Jernyngham to 
Mr. Wall, and my business with him is reall}- so urgent, 
and my time, as I said, so short, that I should like if possi- 
ble to see him to-night. You know the distance and the 
roads, and the habits of the family, and you can tell me 
whether this would be practicable for me or convenient for 
them.” 

Let me see. Bless me, its a great bore, your going 
awaj^ again to-night, just when I wanted a game of 
euchre,” said the captain, breaking away from the question 
at issue to complain of his own individual grievance, as 


VANE DEMANDS THE SECRET. 277 

many people do. But the anxious face of Vane recalled 
him. 

“ Well, yes, I suppose you can go if you must, late as it 
is. Our Maryland doors are open to visitors as long as we 
are out of bed, and afterwards, too, for that matter. Basil 
Wall’s is eight miles from here, and the roads are good. 
If you take the same little sleigh that you have been using, 
and a fresh horse, and start within ten minutes, you will 
get there in an hour — that is, a little after seven o’clock. 
That will not be too late to pay a visit when the motive is 
important. And you will have three hours to transact your 
business, whatever it may be, as old Basil never goes to 
bed before ten.” 

“Then,” said Vane, rising from the table, “I must 
trouble you to give me plain directions as to the road.” 

“ Oh, you would never find it from my direction. It is 
cut up into twenty cross-roads. I will send Boobydebil 
with you.” 

“ Many thanks ; but will not that be very inconven- 
ient ? ” 

“ Not at all, in regard to Boobydebil. The only bore is 
not having you here to take the fourth hand at euchre.” 

“ I’m sorry, but — ” inquired Vane, mischievously, “ could 
not Miss Pinky take the fourth hand ?” 

“ Blast Miss Pinky ! ” exclaimed the captain, gallantly— 
but under his breath, although Miss Skinner was certainly 
at a safe distance. 

“ Could not Miss Halc^^one fill the place ? ” pursued 
Vane. 

“ Halcyone ! Blest if I know what’s come over her ever 
since she came back from Hurrah Hall. ^I do believe some 
hydrophobic must have bitten her, and she’s going melan- 
choly mad. She’s as solemn as an owl, and as cross as 
a cat. She plays recklessly, and don’t seem to know the 
right bower from the deuce of nothing. Don’t tell mo 


278 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


about Halcyone. I think I’ll send her awaj’- somewhere for 
change of scene — to old Basil’s, to visit Fulvia and Flavia. 
Ko, I shall just have to give up my game for this evening. 
And the worst of it is that it is the last evening I shall 
have with j’ou too.’’ 

“I don’t know that,” said Vane, good-naturedly ; “and 
besides, though I leave the neighborhood for a week or so, I 
mean to come back to remain.” 

“ Oh ! you do, do you ? Then I hope you will make 
Stormy Point your home.” 

“ If 3'ou can accommodate me, I shall do so with great 
pleasure ! ” 

“ Hurrah ! then its a bargain.” 

During this short conversation, they had passed into the 
hall, where Vane hastily resumed his great coat, hat, and 
gloves. 

And by the time he was ready, Harrj’^, who had gone 
out to order the sleigh with a fresh horse, returned to say 
that he was waiting .at the door. 

With sincere thanks to his kind host. Vane once more 
bade him good night, and took his seat in the sleigh, beside 
Bobadilla, who held the reins. 

“ Mind, if the old fellow wants you to stay all night, you 
needn’t trouble about Boobydebil and the sleigh. You can 
keep them or send them back, just exactly as j'ou please,” 
said the captain, just as Vane started. 

The young man lifted his hat in acknowledgment, and 
ihe sleigh flew olf. 


THE CENTENARIAN. 


279 


CHAPTER XX, 

THE CENTENAllIAN. 

Though nenr a century old, he still retained 
His manly sense and energy of mind. 

Virtuo'tis and wise he was; but not severe 
For he re'.nembered that he once was young; 

Ills easy presence checked no harmless joy. — Armstrong. 

The sleigh flew over tlie frozen snow and under tlie star- 
lit- sky, at such a rate that the ice-clad trees flashed, 
wliirling, reeling backward;?, like a mad dance of fairies; 
at such a rate that conversation was impracticable and 
breathing difficult. Their way lay back from the coast 
towards the interior. The road was much better than 
any Vane had yet seen in the neighborhood. It took them 
tlirough a deep forest all sheathed in ice, that gleamed 
dimly in the starlight, like the steel armor and lances of 
the knights of old. 

For an hour thej’’ flew on at a bi-eathless rate, and then, 
ill the midst of the forest, came to a clearing, to some old 
fields and orchards, and a garden, and then to an old-fash- 
ioned farm-house, with a very steep roof and very tall 
chill) nej's, and big doors and windows. The windows were 
lighted from the fires within, and gave the same inviting 
as[)ect to the jilace as that which Vane had found at every 
other house he liad seen in Maryland. 

The sleigh drew up before the broad front door, that was 
blieltered by a stoop covered all over its roof with climbing 
rose-vines, now leafless, but sheathed, like the forest trees, 
ill ice, and fruited witli icicles. 

Bobadilla got down afid knocked loudly with his fist, for 
want of a harder knocker.* Vane followed him more leis- 
urely. 

The door was opened by Fulvia. 

^ Wliy, Bobadilla, how do you do ? How is your master 


280' THE FA WILT DOOM. 

and all at the Point? Is anything the matter?’’ she 
ashed, in some surprise and anxiety. 

“It’s the young geminan, miss, that’s all,” answered 
Pobadilla. 

“ Good evening, Miss Wall. I do not wonder you are 
surprised to see us at this hour,” said Vane, coming up ; 
“ but the fact is ” 

“ Oh, Mr. Vandeleur, is that you ? I’m very glad to'see 
you. Come in ; uncle will be pleased to make your ac- 
quaintance, I am sure,” she said cordially, holding out her 
hand. 

“ I ought to apologise for making you so late a visit, 
but ” 

“ Lor,’ Mr. Vandeleur, don’t say a word. I assure 3mu I 
am really very glad to see you, indeed; so will Flavia be. 
And as for uncle he’ll be delighted. He always is to see 
pleasant company. You know it is a God-send to him, 
bless his dear old soul. He don’t get out much this 
weather. He is so old — almost a hundred years' old. And 
just as happy as ever he can be. I am sure you will bo 
pleased with him.” 

“ I am sure that I have been delighted with ever}^ mem- 
ber of this family that I have had the good fortune to 
meet,” said Vane, gallantl3^ 

“ Oh, w'e younger ones are plain country folk. It is 
uncle wdio is an angel, and a prince, and a duck, and eveiy- 
thing that is good. How hurry in. Never mind dusting 
the snow otf. I declare it is snowing again, isn’t it ? Bob- 
adilla, you take the horse and sleigh around in the stable 
and put them up. And don’t forget to give the horse a 
w^arm mash and a rub-down, and cover him wdth a blanket, 
after such a cold drive ; and then jmu go to the kitchen and 
I wdll come and give 3mu something hot and comfortable for 
yourself, do you hear?” said the voung girl, whose kind 
heart never let her forget the wants of any creature, high 
or low, human or brute \Yho might need her attention. 


THE CENTENARIA^f. 281 

The man touched his hat, and left the door, to do her 
bidding. 

‘‘ You see we have but few servants here, Mr. Vande- 
leur, and so I liave to make Bobadilla wait on himself; 
but he is sucli a good old creature that he won’t mind it, 
bless his dear old soul,” said Fulvia, as she stood in the hall 
beside Vane while he took otf his hat and overcoat. 

“ And yet they call him Booby devil ! ” laughed Vane. 

‘^Oh! that’s a corruption of his name. They always 
spoil names so, hereabouts. I know the sweetest little 
child that ever was born, and her name is Violet, which 
suits her, love her dear little heart ; and they call her Viley, 
and even Vile, for short.” 

Oh ! that’s atrocious !” 

It is sacrilegious ! ” 

Fulvia opened the door leading into a snug room, warmed 
by a bright fire. She drew an easy chair up before it, say- 
ing : 

Sit down and make yourself comfortable, Mr. Vande- 
leur, and I will go and tell uncle that you are here. I 
know that he will be as pleased as possible to make your 
acquaintance. And I am sure you will like him so much 
that jmu will never forget him ; he is the dearest old gen- 
tleman ! ” 

Thus babbling her little benevolences, for ^’out of tlie 
abundance of her heart,” she spoke, Fulvia went awaj’. 

Vane left to himself, looked around with something of 
the idle curiosity a stranger feels on finding himself the 
gole occupant of a new room. 

But the room, new to the visitor, was old in itself ; and 
there were signs of frugalit}", if not of poverty in all its ap- 
pointments. The home-made carpet that covered the floor 
was faded and patched. A window j^^^ne wanted here and 
there, was supplied by a clean piece of newspaper, pasted 
neatly in its place. The old chairs and tables of wal»ut, 


282 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


were worn smooth of all angles. The blinds of the win- 
dows were of blue wall paper. The easy chairs were cov- 
ered with old leather, much worn hy usage. The glass 
over the mantle-piece was dimmed with age. 

Yet throughout the place was an atmosphere of care, 
cleanliness, and comfort that was very pleasing. 

Vane had not time to notice half the attractive features 
of this very unpretentious apartment, when the door opened, 
and Fulvia and Flavia entered, leading in between them, the 
venerable Basil Wall. 

Vane arose. 

A most reverend and imposing figure was that of the 
aged man who now stood in the presence of the visitor. 
He was very tall and very thin, and slightly stooping, yet 
more from the grace of courtes}’’ than from the weakness of 
age. His features were clearlj'^ cut and noble in outline, his 
skin was very wrinkled, but his complexion was very fair 
and roseate, and his blue eyes were as clear and pure as 
those of infancy. The top of his head was quite bald, 
clean, and shining; but from the sides and back, long, 
white, soft silvery locks flowed down upon his neck and 
shoulders and mingled with the long silver}" beard that 
rested on his breast. 

He was dressed with much care and neatness. He wore 
isnow-white, spotless linen, and an old threadbare but well- 
brushed suit of black broadcloth. He came forward, lightly 
leaning on the shoulder of Fulvia, and smiling to greet his 
visitor. 

Vane arose and bowed with more reverence before this 
aged patriarch than he would have felt in the presence of 
the greatest monarch on earth. 

Old Basil Wall held out his hand, saying smilingly 

‘^lam very glad to see you, Mr. Vandeleur. I have 
heard of you with some interest from my niece here. Sit 
down again and make yourself comfortable. It is a cold 
night.” 


THE CENTENARIAN. 


283 


Thanks, but I should first apologize for making this 
unexpected visit/^ 

“ You should do no such thing, my young friend. You 
are very welcome! Visitors are not such frequent blessings 
on cold winter nights to our lonely country house, that we 
are not to be thankful to them when they do come. I beg 
you will sit down again, said the old man, gracefully wav- 
ing his hand towards the visitor’s vacated chair. 

Vane seeing that his host was standing, and would con- 
tinue to stand as long as he himself should do so, smiled 
and bowed and resumed his seat. 

Old Basil Wall and his nieces then drew chairs around 
the fire and seated themselves. 

I should not have presumed to intrude upon a stranger 
at this hour of the evening,” began the visitor ; but the 
host politely interrupted hinr: 

“Say no more of that I beg you. You are very wel- 
come. We are very glad to see you.” 

Vane bowed and continued, as if nothing had been said 
to interrupt his speech : 

“ But that I am the bearer of a letter from Mrs. Jernyng- 
ham of Henniker, which I thought it necessary to deliver 
at once, as my time here is very short.” 

“Ah!” said the old gentleman, taking the letter that 
was handed by Vane, and holding it unopened while he 
spoke : 

“ You are going to leave us ? I am veiy sorry ! I had 
hoped to have acquired a permanent as well as a pleasant 
acquaintance in you.” 

“ You are very kind. Believe me, Mr. Wall, the wish 
for a better acquaintance is mutual, and as I hope to 
return and to remain in this neighborhood for some time, I 
trust it will be gratified.” 

“ Oh, we shall indeed be very happy to have you for a 
neighbor. You left the ladies of Henniker well ? ” 

O 


284 


THE F A M I I. Y DOOM. 


Very well, thank you. Madam Journey’s letter ^ 

‘‘Ah, yes!” exclaimed the old gentleman, opening the 
epistle in question and beginning to read it. 

Vane watched him with much interest, and saw that as 
he read his face changed and he became very grave and 
anxious. He finished and folded the letter and put it in 
his pocket, and then sat with his hands upon his knees and 
his head upon his breast until his silvery beard swept down 
to his waist. He sat thus for some minutes in silence, and 
seemingly in troubled thought, while Vane watched him 
anxiously, and the two young girls glanced at him uneasily. 

At length Fulvia ventured to inquire : 

“Dear uncle, is there anj'thing^the matter?” 

“ Ho, my dear, nothing to trouble you. It is a little 
commission that Mrs. Jern^mghain has entrusted to me, 
and that concerns our visitor here,” said the old gentleman. 
Then turning courteously to Vane, he added. “ You will 
remain all night with us? Haj^, it is absolutely necessary 
that you should do so, if I am to comply with my friend, 
Mrs. Jernyngham’s request.” 

Vane bowed and smiled his thanks and acceptance of the 
invitation. Then the old gentleman turned to his nieces 
and said : 

“ Fulvia, my love, go and have a fire lighted in the spare 
room for our friend, and see also that his horse and servant 
are well taken care of this cold night. And Flavia dear, 
brew a big jug of mulled cider, and bring it here to warm 
us.” 

The young girls immediately left the room to obey the 
commands of their uncle, who, when alone with his guest, 
turned to him and said ; 

“ Two good children, sir ; two yery good children. My 
great-grand-nieces; though that is such a lengthened-out 
relationship that I simply call them my nieces ; and I love 
them both as my children, of course.” 


THE CENTENARIAN. 


285 


** They are both verj'- lovely,” added Yane. 

And now, my young friend, you know of course the 
purport of this letter ? ” said Mr. Wall, drawing the epistle 
from his pocket. 

Vane smiled. 

Of course I do sir.” 

You have seen it perhaps ? ” 

Only the outside.” 

Then read it now. And after you have done so we can 
better enter upon its subject,” said old Basil Wall, handing 
over the paper. 

Vane unfolded it and read — with a somewhat heightened 
color as he came to liis own name in connection with his 
suit to Berenice. 


Hennikee House, Saturday Morning. 

My Dear Old Friend: This will be handeS you by 
Mr. Vane Vandeleur, whose shipwreck on our shores has 
made his name so well known to all the neighbors around, 
that you could not have failed to hear of him, even if your 
dear girls had not spent an evening in his company at 
Hourie Hall. Mr. Vandeleur has done us the honor to pro- 
•pose for the hand of our child Berenice. He has presented 
such testimonials of good standing in his own community 
as should recommend him to our respect even if his personal 
merits had not already won our warmest regard. But ymu 
know the reasons why I think that, after this, no daughter 
of our house should ever many. I write now to ask you to 
take upon yourself the painful task of putting him in pos- 
sessic n of these reasons. You know the whole of our fami- 
ly history — known to so few. You have seen five genera- 
tions of our family, and are witness to the fatality that has 
followed it. Tell the ymung stranger all — all. He can be 
trusted, I feel sure. Your affectionate friend, 

Dorothy^ Jernyngham. 


286 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


Vane finished this letter and returned it to Mr. Wall, 
who replaced it in his pocket. 

Vane looked anxiousl3’' towards the old gentleman, who, 
with his hands folded and his head bent, remained in silence 
that the 3^ouug man forbore to interrupt. 

At length Mr. Wall spoke : 

“It is a long, sorrowful story. But I should preface it 
bj’ saying that I do not believe in any supernatural cause 
for the events that have occurred. It may be a chain of 
coincidences onl^^, or there may be a perfectly natural cause, 
although we may not know what it is. There are many 
things in life, sir, that seem supernatural, until explained 
by science. This strange farail}’ history may be one of 
these things. 

Here the old man paused, and again fell into thought. 

Eagerness, anxiet}^, intense interest were expressed in 
ever^’’ lineament of Vandeleur’s speaking face. But the 
old man continued still silent, as if engaged in collecting 
and marshaling his thoughts. ' 

At length the sisters returned to the room — Eulvia bear- 
ing a waiter on which stood a couple of large glasses, two 
plates and a cake basket full of seed cakes ; and Elavia 
with a large covered pitcher, from which steamed the fra- 
grant aroma of mulled cider. Eulvia held her waiter while 
Elavia sat the pitcher down before the fire to be kept hot, 
and then ran and brought a little round table and placed it 
on the rug between Basil Wall and his guest. The girls 
then arranged^ the plates and glasses upon it, and then 
looked up at the old man as if for farther directions. 

“ That will do, my darlings 5 I want nothing more for 
the present,” said Mr. Wall. 

All is ready for Mr. Vandeleur, wdien he wishes to go . 
to his room, uncle. It is the large one back of yours,” 
said Eulvia. 

“ Quite right, my dear ; but our guest will not want to 
retire for three hours yet. It is but half past seven yet.” 


THE CENTENARIAN. 


28T 


You will find this mulled cider better than usual, uncle. 
It is made from some Miss Pinky Skinner sent over to-night 
by the old colored man who drove Mr. Vandeleur,” said 
Plavia. . . 

“ Is it ? Then it must be good, for they certainly make 
the best cider in the county at Storms’s — though to be sure 
they also raise the best apples there for that purpose. It 
was very kind in Pinky to send it, and I thank her very 
much.” 

“ And, uncle — I mulled it ! ” 

“ You did, my darling? Then it is perfect, I know.” 

“Uncle,” put in Plavia, frankly, “do you wish us to 
remain here or not ? ” 

“ No, my dears, I wish you to go into the back parlor and 
stay there until I want you. But how will you amuse your- 
selves this long dismal winter evening ? ” 

“ Oh, uncle we shall sew on our pretty patch work silk 
quilt that we are determined to send to the Industrial Pair 
to compete for the prize next summer,” said Plavia. 

And besides, uncle. Pike Turner promised to be back 
again to-night, and he will be sure to come ; and he can 
sit with us and tell us stories of his wild life in the West, 
you know. I had rather sit down and listen to his thrilling 
adventures among the wolves and bears and the still more 
savage and ferocious Bed Skins than read any novel I ever 
saw,” said Pul via. 

“ Well, I hope he will come, for your sakes, my dears, 
but it is a terrible night — snowing fast again ! ” exclaimed 
the 0^.1 gentleman, raising his eyes to the windows against 
which the thick white shower was sifting down through the 
darkness. 

“ Come ? To be sure he will come. Bless his darling 
old heart ! when did lie ever fail to keep his word through 
any sort of weather?” said Pul via, very warmly. 

“Quite right, my love. Now you and your sister may go 


288 


THE F A ]\1 I I. Y DOOM. 


and leave me with my guest here. We have some busi- 
ness to transact.’’ 

I feel quite like a culprit^” said Vane, ^‘in being the 
cause of banishing these young ladies.” 

‘‘ You are not doing so, my dear young friend. The 
back parlor is their special sitting room, where they keep 
their work-tables and pet cats, and other feminine belong- 
ings. I usually pass my evenings with them there, dozing 
in my easy chair, for want of something better to do. To- 
night Pike Turner will take my place and be better com- 
panj’’, as, instead of dozing, he will tell them sensational 
stories.” 

The girls kissed their hands and, laughing, left the room. 

Good girls! good girls, Mr. Vandeleur! The greatest 
comforts I have in this w’orld — though I have many, 
blessed be the Lord ! ” reverentlj^ added the old man. 

Vandeleur bowed assent. 

Mr. Wall lifted the pitcher of mulled cider from the hearth 
and filled two tumblers, and handed one to his guest, say- 
ing : 

‘‘Take it Mr. Vandeleur. It will do jmu good, this cold 
night. And besides, it is very palatable.” 

“ It is delicious,” said Vane, sipping for the first time the 
favorite local beverage. 

“ It is my only dissipation, Mr. Vandeleur.” 

“ A most innocent one, I am sure,” said Vane, setting 
down his empty glass. 

“ Yes, yes ; if nothing stronger than this were habitually 
drunk, life would be longer, and the list of ills shorter,” added 
the old gentleman, as he also put down his empty glass, and 
set the covered pitcher nearer the fire to keep its contents 
hot against the time they would want to replenish their 
tumblers. 

“ And now for the story. You will think that I am tell- 
jng j’^ou a tale out of some middle-age romance ; but it is 
in point of fact a portion of the history of the province.” 


A TALE T O I. D BY NIGHT. 


289 


I am all attention,” said Vane, almost breathlessly. 

“ Listen then,” said old Basil Wall, drawing bis chair 
nearer to his guest. 


CHAPTER XXL 

A TALE TOLD BY NIGHT. 

“ Listen noble stranger now, 

Awful hands have marked thy brow.” 

Here the patriarch told the story of that proud first 
lady of the manor, who having been left a young and 
wealthy widow, with an only daughter, set her aftections 
upon the bravest, handsomest, and most distinguished cav- 
alier of the Provincial Court; how for awhile he became 
her frequent guest and amused himself in her society until 
on one fatal day he confided to her the secret of his private 
marriage with the beautiful daughter of an Indian chief, 
and thus aroused her fiercest passions of jealou‘sy and re- 
venge, so that in a mad attempt to destroy her rival, she 
accidentally poisoned her lover ; and thus drew down the 
bitter curse of the young Indian widow — the curse of wid- 
owhood upon herself and her daughters forever. 

And you believe this legend? ” enquired Vane. 

I know not what to believe of the legend. The proofs 
of its truth, if any ever existed, are lost in the mists of the 
past. But I know that the fate of widowhood has followed 
the family relentlessly, for seven generations.” 

Strange ! most strange ! But go on sir ! ” 

^<The first lady of the manor, never married again. She 
who is said to have been so great a sinner, is also reputed 
to have ended her life as a great saint. She founded the 
Church of St. Rosalie with all its dependencies. And she 
18 


200 


THE E A M I L T DOOM. 


devoted her only daughter to a convent. The girl however, 
had a will of her own — 

“ Like her mother ! ” put in Yane. 

“Exactly. And so she ran away from her convent, and 
married the young heir of the Lord Proprietary.’^ 

“ And what next ? ” 

“ She was the first heiress of the curse. Within a year 
lier young husband was mysteriously murdered and she was 
left a child-like widow with an infajit daughter. Some 
said this was the judgment of Heaven upon the unholy 
marriage ; others affirmed that it was the vengeance of 
Eagle Eye, the lonely old chief of the Pocomocoes, carry- 
ing out his daughter’s malediction. The youthful widow 
considered it the punishment of her sin in breaking her 
conventual vows. She was overwhelmed with grief and re- 
morse. She became almost as great a penitent and devotee 
as her mother was. She humbled herself before the church 
she had offended ; and after a long time, she was forgiven, 
and received back into its communion. She took her infant 
daughter, a posthumous child born some weeks after its 
father’s death, whom she called Magdalene, in memorj^ of 
her own repentance, and she went down to Henniker and 
joined her lady mother. 

“ There the two women led a recluse life, devoting them- 
selves to prayer, penance, alms-giving, and lastly to the ed- 
ucation of the little Magdalene Calvert. In their zeal they 
•would have devoted this child also to a convent, but*she was 
a member of the Lord Proprietary’s family, though a dis- 
tant one, and she was the heiress of a very large estate; so 
both the orphan’s court and the powerful Calvert clan had a 
great deal to do with her destiny. They would not permit 
her to be placed in a convent. Nevertheless she was 
brought up very strictly bj^ her educators. I remember 
Magdalene or Maidlen, as she was called in brief; I re- 
member her well,” said the old man, musingly. 


A TALE TOLD BY NIGHT. 291 

You ! ” exclaimed Vane, in surprise; for they seemed 
to be speaking of such long past, provincial historjL 

“Yes I remember her; so you see that I have come 
down to mj'' day at last. Oh ! I have known Henniker a 
long time ; but then, you see, I am near a century old ! 
Yes ! I remember Maidlen well ; the loveliest of all the 
lovely ladies of her line. She was then what our young 
Berenice is now ! ” said old Basil Wall, with enthusiasm. 

“ Then she must have been beautiful indeed ! ” assented 
Berry’s lover with much fervor. 

“ Tliis sweet Maidlen grew up as amiable and intel- 
lectual as she was beautiful. That gentleman of her de- 
ceased father’s family, who had been appointed as one of her 
guardians bj^ the decision of the Orphan’s Court, as a check 
upon the fanaticism of her mother’s family, would not con- 
sent that she should be doomed to take the veil. This 
being the case her mother did the next best thing she could. 
She educated her daughter with the greatest strictness of 
discipline,, told her of the malediction that justly or un- 
justly followed her family ; and so she ever shadowed that 
young life with superstitious gloom.” 

“But where was her guardian all this time, that he did 
not interfere ? ” inquired Vane. 

“ At the court of the Lord Proprietary. However, when 
Maidlen was twenty years of age, and within a year of her 
majority, when she would come into the actual possession 
of her large estates, her guardian, who was, I believe, also 
her great-uncle, came down to see her. Perceiving, from 
the influence around the girl, that if some wholesome 
change were not made in her way of life, that she would, of 
her own accord, as soon as she should become of age, go 
into a convent ; and that such a change must be made 
while he yet had power over her person ; he took her back 
with him on a visit to her relatives in St. Mary’s Cit^L 
There her condition was so completely changed, that from 


202 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


being one of tlie most secluded of recluses, she became the 
most brilliant belle at the gay court of the Lord Proprie- 
tary.” 

‘‘ A natural reaction,” murmured Vane. 

And yet she retained all her truth and goodness. The 
death of her grandmother, at an advanced age, and who, by 
the way, died in an odor of sanctit3’, brought her back to 
Henniker House for a season ; but she was never brought 
to the .gloom}' asceticism that had darkened her 3muth, 
After the year of mourning expired she went again to St. 
Mary’s City, accompanied b}’ her mother. On the elder 
lad}’, also, the change of scene produced a wholesome etfect. 
She went with her daughter much into society, and was 
much elated b}' tlie admiration eveiywhere bestowed upon 
the lovely Maidlen. Indeed, the change that came over 
both mother and daughter was quite wonderful.” 

“ The removal of the guilty woman and gloomy fanatic 
who had darkened their lives, no doubt lielped this very 
much.” 

“ Yes, I think so too. Mrs. Calvert was even induced to 
tolerate a suitor to her daughter, when that suitor was also 
one of the most distinguished young men in the province. 
Put she could not at once get over the terror of the curse. 
It will perhaps amaze 3’ou, Mr. Vandeleur, to hear that 
these two women, mother and daughter, being then of 
sound and well cultivated minds, before giving a final 
answer to tliis suitor, actually did make a secret pilgrimage 
to the Indian village of Pocomoco to inquire into the matter 
of the malediction, and to consult an Indian medicine man 
magician on the subject. This is one of the incidents that 
can be vouched for ; though you may be scarcely able to 
credit it.” 

Wh}' not ? — Ho I not see the same superstition work- 
ing on this present day, and on the minds of two of the 
most intelligent women I ever knew?” said Vane a little 
impatiently. 


A TALE TOLD BY NIGHT. 


293 


“Aye, Mrs. Jernyngham and Miss Brooke, both believe 
in the malediction and dread its doom,” slowly and thought, 
fully replied the old man. 

“ But proceed sir if you please. What came . cf the 
ladies’ visit to the Indian village ? ” 

“A most important revelation or prediction — call if; 
which you please. The ‘Eagle Eye’ — the old chief— waa 
long since dead. The son ‘ Dead Shot,’ was absent on a 
hunting expedition. But ‘ Long Sight,’ an Indian seer of 
fabulous age and wonderful wisdom, was sunning himself in 
his wigwam door. Him the pilgrims consulted, and his 
answer was as obscure and impossible of fulfilment, as any 
oracle ever uttered of old ! Have you chanced to hear of 
it ? ” 

“ Hever.” 

“It has been handed down however to the present time. 
As it has been interpreted and translated, it stands thus— 
and you will saj’^ when you hear it, that it is enough to 
confound the calculation of any common mind : 

• When the noon shall he midnight, 

And evening be morn : 

And the child shall be christened 
Before it is born ; — 

‘ When tine maid shall be widowed 
Before she is wed 

Then the nan shall be pardoned, 

The curse shall be dead.’ 

“You may Imagine, Mr. Yandeleiir, that the chain of im- 
possible contingencies threw the mother and daughter into 
the deepest despair. They returned to St. Mary’s City 
and, after some days of intense suffering, sent for the im- 
patient suitor and confided to him the conditions and the 
curse.. Being of a strong mind and joyous spirit, he 
laughed at both. So fine and wholesome was his influence 
over both women that he brought them over to his views, 
and he married Maidlen Calvert. It was in her bridal 
dress as she left the church on the arm of her handsome 
bTidegroom, and followed by a long train of bridesmaids, 


294 THE FAMILY DOOM. 

that I saw her for the first time. I was a hit of a boy then, 
knocked about among the spectators ] hut I know, as I 
thought of the malediction and looked at her, I felt as if, 
had I been a man, I would like to be cursed in the same 
way, and have that beautiful woman for a bride, if I had to 
die for it before the year was out.” 

I hope that he did not,” ventured Vane. 

Aye, but he did ! ” said Basil Wall, solemnly. 

“ Eight months after the marriage, one night when she 
was sitting up late waiting for his return, and wondering 
why he, who never staid out so late before, should be gone 
so long now, his dead body was suddenly brought home to 
her by. the constables. It had been found in the streets. 
There was no visible cause for his death, no mark of vio- 
lence whatever upon his person. And a subsequent post- 
mortem examination showed no disorganization within. 
The cause of his sudden death remained an impenetrable 
mystery.” 

“ The whole chain of incidents is a mystery, it seems to 
me,” sighed Vane. 

“ It is. Well, I was about to say — The shock of lier 
husband’s sudden death proved fatal to the lovely young 
widow. She was seized with the pangs of premature labor, 
and gave birth to twins — a bo}*^ and a girl. The boy lived 
only to be baptized, and then died. The young mother 
survived but a few hours and expired. She was buried with 
her baby on her bosom. All this happened within eight 
months after the fatal marriage. The surviving twin, the 
little delicate girl, was adopted by the broken hearted mo- 
ther of Maidlen, and most tenderly brought up. She taught 
the babe to call her, mother, and the little Dorothy never 
knew her otherwise. Mrs. Calvert died when Dorothy was 
about eighteen years of age. On her death-bed she confided 
the family secret to the keeping of her daughter, as she al- 
ways called the girl, and she enjoined her, with her last 
dying breath, never to continue the curse by marrying.” 


vane’s last resolve. 


295 


‘‘ And the. fair Dorotlij' obeyed the solemn injunction of 
course,” said Vane witli a sort of sad irony. 

“ Slie obeyed it for a time, indeed. She had manj^ suitors 
but rejected them all, until the frank and gallant sailor? 
Captain Jernyngham met her in society and fell in love with 
her. You have seen his portrait — what a very handsome 
and attractive man he was even on canvas. Judge if you 
please of his attractions, with that face and form lighted up 
with life and love. Dorothy could not withstand him. She 
loved him to distraction. She told him her story and left 
the issue with him. He, like his predecessor, laughed the 
curse to scorn ! He said that the deaths of the two former 
men were mere coincidences; that in wild and unsettled 
times and places men were liable to sudden and violent 
death ; that he himself was a sailor and might at any time 
find a watery grave without anybody taking the trouble to 
curse him into it.” 

So they were married ?” 

Yes; and Father Ignatius who performed the ceremony 
and who was the spiritual guide of both, enjoined them 
never more to mention the malediction, but to let the very 
memorj’^ of it die out. And from that moment the matter 
was hushed up. You know the rest of their story, Mr. 
Vandeleur.” 


CHAPTER XXIL 
vane’s last resolve. 


Now if your resolution be like mine. 

We yet will give our sorrows a brave end 
Justice is for us, so may fortune be. 

And weave bright proof of her inconstancy — C roon’s Dabio*. 

‘‘I have heard,” answered Vane, “how Captain Jernyng- 
bara was killed in a sea-fight.” 


296 


T H E E A M I E T DOOM. 


‘^And so seemed to follow tlie fate of liis predecessor in 
coming to a violent death within a year after his marriage.’’ 

« Yes.” 

“ But you have not heard, perhaps, that instead of falling 
in a fair fight with his country’s foes, he was traitorously 
shot by one of his own crew, a half-breed Indian, who was 
supposed to have taken advantage of the mel^e on deck to 
do the dreadful deed ? ” 

“Good Heaven, no! I never heard that! Was the 
murderer brought to justice ? ” 

“ There was no time for that. But speedy retribution fol- 
lowed the fellow. He was killed a few minutes after his 
crime in the same sea-fight. ” 

“Did Madam Jernyngham know that?” 

“No one knew it for a certainty; and assuredly, as the 
half-breed who was said to have done the deed was already 
dead, there was no reason why the suspicion should be 
brought to the knowledge of the captain’s widow, to augment 
the sorrow that was even then almost insupportable. Her 
husband fell in the sea-fight. Such was the bulletin brought 
to her.” 

“ Then the traitorous murder was but a suspicion?” 

“ It was but too probably a fact. Look you, my young 
friend. It occurs to me, while I am recalling the incidents 
of the family history, that there was nothing at all unac- 
countable in it, taken as a whole. It appears to me that 
the sons of the ‘ Eagle Eye,’ from generation to generation 
have taken care to carry down and execute his daughter’s 
curse. Recollect. Benedict Calvert, who married the 
daughter of Lady Henniker, was found dead in the wood 
with an arrow sticking in his body. Is it not probable that 
the shaft was sped from an Indian bow ? Then, the 
husband of Maidlen Calvert was found dead in the street. 
Is it not possible that he too died by Indian treacher}'- ? It 
is almost certain that Cjiptain Jernyngham met his death in 


297 


vane’s I. AST RESOLVE. 

the manner I have described. And there is not the shadow 
of a doubt tliat Colonel Dering was killed by an Indian 
warrior, who singled him out in the skirmish. 

Then, as I said before, it is probably a one-sided ven- 
detta, handed down from father to son. If so, it must soon 
die out, if it is not already dead ! The Indians have long 
since disappeared from this neighborhood. Even if Colonel 
Dering came to his death among them, as I suppose there is 
no question but that he did, still it was on the frontier; it 
was not here that he met his fate.' But — his successor^ — his 
son in-law, if he had lived to know a soii-in-law, the father 
of Berenice ! I confess that I have been, and I am, more 
anxious to know his history and fate than those of all his 
predecessors put together! What of Mr. Baphael Brooke ? ” 
gravely demanded Vandeleur. 

But this name was no sooner mentioned than the counte- 
nance of the old man grew troubled. 

“ I would to Heaven,” he said, that I had not to tell 
you this story ! I could tell you all the horrors that pre- 
ceded it, because they belonged to a remote period, and their 
sanguine coloring is faded by time. But his story is com- 
paratively one of to-day ! Its memory is fresh in my mind ! 
Ah, my 3’oung friend ! We can all of us read of the. mas- 
sacre of St. Bartholomew, or the martyrdoms of Smithfield, 
with much less painful emotion than we can hear of the last 
steamboat explosion or railway collision. And thirj it was 
less trying to me to speak of the guilt and sorrow of the 
past, than of the tragedy of the present.” 

“ I am very sorry to give you this pain. Believe me, I 
would not do so if I could help it. Yet this tragedy is not 
quite of to-day either ! It was some eighteen or twenty 
years since,” said Vane. 

‘‘And yet it seems but 3'esterday. From jmur words I 
should judge that 3'ou already know something of that 
story.” 


298 


THE FA MI I. Y DOOM. 


Only that Mr. Brooke was introduced to the ladles of 
Henniker by their parish priest, Father John Waldemar, 
on the occasion of a party given in honor of Miss Bering’s 
birth-day ; that, being vouched for by Father Waldemar, he 
subsequently married Miss Bering, with the approbation 
of all her relations and friends. And that some three 
months after their marriage, some awful calamity put a sud- 
den end to their union. But of the precise nature of that 
calamity I ]iave never been told — eveiy one who has men- 
tioned the subject to me, has only alluded to it in a sort of 
horror, and tlien shrank away from it entirely.” 

“ May I ask who has ever mentioned it to you ? ” 

‘‘ Onlj'^ two persons, I think. Captain Storms ” 

— “ Who knows very little about it,” put in the old man, 

“And an aged servant of Mrs. Jernjuigham ” 

“ Who knows less. I was present when the arrest was 
made.” 

“ The arrest ! ” echoed Vane in astonishment. 

“ Yes ; and it was as privately made as was possible. It 
was about three months after their marriage, I think. They 
had returned from their wedding-tour, and were making a 
visit at Henniker House, previous to going to Baphael 
Brooke’s own home, near Charleston, in South Carolina. 

A large companj" of friends and neighbors had been invited 
to meet them, and w'ere tlien staying in the house.” 

“Yes,” said Vane anxiously, seeing that old Basil Wall * 
paused. 

“ There was a great deal of festivity of cours'e. One 
fine day, a riding party had been arranged. The gentle- 
men and ladies w^ere all mounted on fine horses and w^ere 
laughing and talking together, and making their horses 
prance and caper before the door, while the groom had rid- 
den on to open the inner gate ” 

“Well ? ” breathlessly urged Vane. 

“At that moment a carriage came slowly up the avenue 


V A N e’ S T. A S T B E S O L V E , 


299 


and stopped before the door. All the mounted party drew 
aside to make way for the carriage, and remained looking 
in some little curiosity for its occupants. There appeared 
four men in the vehicle. And the curiosity of the company 
was greatly increased, when, on these alighting, it was dis- 
covered that they were all four strangers in the neighbor- 
hood. The elder and more gentlemanly looking of the 
party advanced towards the spot where Raphael Brooke sat 
on his horse, holding the bridle of his wife’s skittish little 
mare. 

^ It is the sheriff of ray native county,’ said Mr. Brooke, 
immediatelj'' recognizing the stranger. 

And when that stranger reached his side, Raphael 
Brooke greeted him gayly and frankly, with certainly no 
shadow of the coming wo — no slightest suspicion of the 
sheriff’s errand crossing his mind. 

“‘This is Mr. Horatio Wardloe, my love, one of my 
mother’s oldest neighbors and for many ^’^ears sheriff of my 
native county,’ he said, presenting that officer to Rosa- 
mond ; and added, ‘ My wife, sir.’ 

“ The sheriff bowed low, and seemed pained and embar- 
rassed. 

“ I am very glad to see you here so unexpectedly, Mr. 
Wardloe ; but may I ask what important business has 
brought 3’ou so far from home ? ’ smiled the unconscious 
young man. 

“ ‘ Yes. Will you dismount and give me a private inter- 
view ? ’ inquired the officer, glancing uneasily at the young 
wife. 

“‘Well, yes, I can, I suppose, if the business is urgent. 
But, you see, we are all mounted for a canter down by the 
water-side. May not your business wait a few hours ? 
And will you not go into the house and rest, and take some 
refreshments in the meantime? I am sure Mrs. Jernyng- 
bam will be glad to see you or any friend of mine, and 


800 


THE F A :M I L Y DOOM. 


will make you and your companions heartily welcome. 
And, by the way, introduce those — gentlemen, to me,’^ he 
added, hesitating how' to designate them as he glanced 
doubtfully at the questionable party of men who remained 
grouped, near the carriage.” 

“‘It does not need,^ gravely replied the sheriff, ‘nor 
have I time to accept your proffered hospitality. I must 
trouble you, if ^mu please, to accompanj^' me to some place 
near at hand, where I can have a word with you in private.’ 

“ ‘ Here's with jmu, then,’ gajdy and good-humoredly 
replied the young man, throwing himself from his horse, 
and joining the importunate visitor. 

“ As they walked away together, some words were w'afted 
towards us by the light wind. The sheriff was saying to 
Mr. Brooke, 

“‘You will be shocked, I fear, when 3^11 know the 
errand upon which I come, and 3mu will be surprised also, 
perhaps, that I, of all men, should undertake it. But I 
chose to come in person so as to save you as much as possi- 
ble of the inevitable pain.’ 

“ ‘In the name of heaven, Mr. Wardloe, of what pain do 

j'ou ,’ began the 3'oung man ; but here their voices 

passed out of hearing, as they entered the house together. 

“ Meanwhile, the mounted compan}^ waited. There w^as 
a general hum and buzz of conversation and conjecture. 
The sheriff’s voice might have met other ears than mine. 
At all events, there now began to prevail a general impres- 
sion that something was very wrong ; that the new comers 
w’ere the bearers of very bad news ; that some great calam- 
ity had happened. Several members of the compan}', tired 
of ^vaiting, dismounted and walked back to the house, and 
lingered in groups about the porch. Bosamohd Brooke 
rode up to mx^ side. She looked pale and anxious. 

“‘Mr. Wall,’ she inquired, ‘what ails everj^’hody. What 

has bappeiied.’ 


TERRIBLE CHARGES, 801 

dear, I do not know. Nothing serious, I hope,’ 
was my reply. 

“^Help me off my horse, and take me into the house/ 
she requested. 

I complied with her wishes, and led her in.” 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

TERRIBLE CHARGES. 

On horror’s head 

Horrors accumulate. — S hakespearb. 

“We passed throiigli groups of marveling visitors and 
whispering servants that were gathered in the hall, and we 
entered the drawn ng-room. Madam Journej" and some of 
her guests w’ere there, wnaiting and w^ondering what the 
matter could he ; but neither Mr. Raphael Brooke nor the 
sheriff were visible. 

“ What has happened, grandma ? Why do these strange 
men come here ? What are all the people putting their 
heads together about ? You ai^ all keeping something 
from me, grandma ! ” exclaimed Rosamond Brooke, very 
anxiously. 

“ ‘ No, my dear, I am keeping nothing from you ; for 1 
know nothing myself of this business.’ 

“ ^ But this Mr. Wardloe has brought some bad news; 
I know it bj" the w^ay he looked.’ 

trust not, my dear. Mr. Brooke has no hear relative 
to die, and nothing but death could be such very bad news, 
you know'-;’ said Madam Journey, consolingljL 

“ But the good lady w’as much mistaken. There may be 
misfortunes that would make death a blessing by compar- 
ison. That is well known, of course. But the fears of 


802 


THE FAMILY D O O ]^I . 


Kosamoiid were for the moment appeased by the words of 
her grandmother, and she next inquired : 

“ ‘ Where is my husband and his visitor ? ’ 

“ ‘ They are in the next room talking together.’ 

As Madam Journey spoke, hurried steps were heard 
approaching, the door was thrown open and Raphael Brooke 
rushed into the room looking more like a maniac than ever 
I saw a sane man look in my life ; his eyes were wild, his 
gestures distracted ; his words phrenzied. 

‘‘ ‘Rosamond !’ he cried, ‘ I have wronged you more bit- 
terly than man ever wronged woman before. The only 
reparation I can make you, is to die ! ’ With that he put 
his hand in his breast pocket and drew forth a pistol. 

“ Rosamond shrieked and sprang forward ; but before she 
could endanger her own life by seizing the pistol, the sheriff 
who had come up quietly behind, laid his hand on the arm 
of the madman and dispossessed him of the weapon, saying 
calmly as he did vSo: 

“ ‘ Brooke, compose yourself. There is no need for all this 
violence. Remember that I who have known you from 
your childhood, believe in none of these charges. If I had, 
I should have let those rude men come alone on their errand. 
As it was, I cliose to coyjne myself to soften as much as I 
could the shock for you. Do not let my coming be in vain. 
Now calm j’ourself. The charges, it is true, are very grave, 
and the testimony that supports them may be very strong ; 
but the truth and the right are stronger than all.’ 

“ While the sheriff spoke, his prisoner (for a prisoner we 
now saw that he was) remained with his arms folded and 
liis head bowed in an attitude and expression of the deepest 
dejection. Now he answered in the hollow voice of de- 
spair : 

“ ‘ Yes, yes ; the truth and the right are strong ; yet, as 
short as my own life has been, I have seen them over- 
thrown by falsehood and wrong!’ 


TERRIBLE CHARGES. 


303 


" * TeraporariljM temporarily!’ said the sheriff, lo’oking 
around towards Mrs. Brooke and Madam Journey, wdio 
both stood with tightly clasped hands and fixed eyes, gaz- 
ing breathlessly upon the two gentlemen. 

“Perceiving then, for the first time, that visitors and 
others were crowding up with faces full of curiosity, Mr. 
Wardloe turned again to the mistress of the house, and 
said : 

“ ‘ Madam, will you kindly excuse us to these ladies and 
gentlemen, and request them to withdraw for a few mo- 
ments. 

“ And then, in a lower tone, he added : 

“ ‘ It is absolutely necessary that the room should be 
cleared before I can make any explanation.’ 

“ The company and the servants withdrew. I was about 
to follow them when Madam Journey laid her hand upon 
my arm and, addressing the sheriff, said : 

“‘Mr. Wardloe, we have no better friend in the world 
than this gentleman, Mr. Basil Wall. I desire that he shall 
remain to give us the advantage of advice and assistance. 
I begin to think that we may need both.’ 

“ ‘ Let it be as you will, madam,’ answered the sheriff. 

“ So I staid ; and we all sat down. The two ladies, 
indeed, were so faint from agitation that they were not ca- 
pable of standing longer. 

“ The sheriff took out a folded document from his pocket, 
unfolded it, and placed it, open, in the hands of Madam 
Journey. She began to read it and, as she progressed, her 
face gradually assumed an expression of blank horror. 

“It was, in fact — as I afterwards discovered, but did not 
know then — a warrant issued under the hand of a South 
Carolinian magistrate, for the arrest, upon the charge of 
forgery and theft, of one Baphael Brooke, a quadroon, the 
reputed son of Baphael Brooke, deceased, and late of that 
place. 


804 THE FAMILY DOOM. 

Madam Journey is a strong woman, as may have 
discovered before this. She folded the paper slowly, as if to 
gain time; turned her pale face awaj"" from the anxious scru- 
tiny of Kosamond and, addressing the sheriff, said : 

‘ I do not understand this, sir, in the least. Some 
great misapprehension must be here. If it is really neces- 
sary that Mr. Brooke should go with you to set this matter 
right, I do suppose that he must go, and go immediately. 
But I cannot see the good of troubling m}'^ grand-daughter 
with tlie details.’ 

“ And with this. Madam Journey looked fixedly first at 
the sherift* and then at the prisoner, to warn them to keep as 
much of the affair as they could from the knowledge of 
Rosamond as long as possible. But how her own heart 
must have groaned under the burden of that secret all the 
while ! 

“ The sheriff and the prisoner both understood and agreed 
with her. 

‘ I think with you, madam, that there is some great 
misapprehension, if there is not, indeed, something deeper 
in the shape of an artfully arranged conspiracy. I think, 
also, that it is necessary for Mr. Brooke to go at once with 
me back to his native State to try to set the matter right,’ 
said Mr. Wardloe ; at the close of his speech looking 
meaningly upon the agonized face of Raphael Brooke, as if 
entreating him to be silent and reticent, for the sake of his 
terrified wife. 

She was looking from one to the other in the extremity 
of distress. 

“ ^ You are keeping something from me ! I am sure you 
are ! But I will not be put off so ! If it concerns my dear 
husband I. must and will know what it is ! ” she ex- 
claimed. 

‘‘Raphael Brooke had by this time recovered somewhat 
from the shock of his sudden arrest upon such shameful 


TERRIBLE CHARGES. 


305 


charges. He was also calmed in some measure by the 
soothing words of the sheriff. With a meaning glance at 
that officer, he turned toward his wife, and said : 

^^^My dearest, this is a matter involving my right and 
title to my whole real estate in South Carolina. If the 
case should be decided against me I am ruined ! ’ — thus 
telling her the truth so far as his words went, yet not telling 
her anything like the whole truth. This naturally deceived 
her. 

“ ^ And is tAaf all ? ’ she demanded, with an inexperienced 
girl’s supreme disregard of fortune. ‘ Is that all, that you 
should go mad and talk desperately about it?’ 

^ Yes, that is all,’ answered the sheriff, telling an out 
and out white lie, for which I hope he will be forgiven. 

^^^Well, I do not think that anything to make such a 
terrible fuss over,’ she added, with some surprise, and 
almost, I might say, with some incredulitj*, which the sheriff 
perceived with uneasiness, for he quickly rejoined : 

^ Yes, but my dear jmung lady, we men are not so very 
indifferent to our possessions as 3^011 appear to be. And if 
Mr. Brooke loses his case, he loses all his fortune ; he is, as 
he himself saj’s, ruined.’ 

‘ I don’t see that at all. Kuined ? How can ho be 
ruined ? If he should lose everything he possesses in South 
Carolina, what of that ? I have a large fortune, which is 
now as much his as mine.’ 

^ But perhaps he may be fond of the old place,’ sug- 
gested the sheriff, feeling it necessary to say something. 

^ Then we will buy it back. And if I haven’t money 
enough for the purpose, mamma and grand-mamma will 
give me some of theirs,” said Eosamond magnificently. 

** Wery true; but still it will be well to gain our cause 
and save the old estate if possible. To do so, Mr. Brooke 
wdll have to proceed immediately to his native state. And 
indeed, fair lad}’, we have no time to lose. We wish to 
19 


806 THE FAMILY DOOM. 

catch the steamboat that passes Henniker, en route for Nor- 
folk, about four o’clock this afternoon. It is now one ^ 

^ Is there such necessity for haste ? There is a boat 
that leaves for Norfolk every week. Could you not delay a 
week ? We were going to South Carolina ourselves in 
about two weeks from this time ? Could we not at least 
wait for the next boat ? ’ 

‘ Upon no account, my dear young lady. Mr. Brooke 
will tell you so himself,’ said the sheriff. 

“ ^ No, my dearest Rosamond, we cannot wait,’ added her 
husband. 

‘ Well, it is a short notice to prepare for a long journey. 
But I can make my maid pack up what is really needed in 
an hour, and grand-mamma can send the rest of our effects 
after us.’ 

“ ^ After “ us,” my dear Rosamond. Surely you do not 
think of accompanying me ? ’ inquired Raphael Brooke, in 
surprise. 

“ ‘ Oh, yes, I do. I don’t believe in separating man and 
wife under any circumstances,’ smiled the young lady, who 
had now quite recovered her spirits. ‘ I am of Desdemona’s 
mind — “ I love my lord to live with him,” she added. 

“ ^ But, ray dear Mrs. Brooke, this is impossible. Our 
journey is a forced one. Our traveling companions rude 
men. You really would be seriously” inconvenienced by 
going with us now. You can come after us in a week or 
so, if 3mu think proper. Mr. Brooke will, I feel sure, agree 
with me in this view of the case,’ said the sheriff, in much 
embarrassment. 

“‘Yes, my dear Rosamond, Mr. Wardloe speaks truly. 
It is not only inconvenient, but impossible for jmu to accom- 
pany^ us now. If necessary you shall come after us ; other- 
wise I may return soon and fetch you.’ ” 

“Mrs. Brooke looked from one speaker to the other in 
much dissatisfaction ; when Madam Journey struck in and 
said : 


TERRIBLE CHARGES. 


807 


* Eosamoiid, my dear, has your old home grown so dis- 
tasteful to you or your old friends so disagreeable that you 
cannot remain here with us a few days, but must go off 
with your husband in this sudden manner, even to his 
annoyance ? ’ 

“ Kosamond drooped her head. She was always of the 
same pliable temper that 3^ou see her now. She yielded 
the point and cheerfully consented to remain at Henuiker. 

“ Mr. Brooke made the necessary preparations for his 
sudden journey. For this purpose he went up to his 
chamber, followed b^^ his wife, and watched by one of the 
sheriff’s officers who was quietly placed on guard at the 
head of the stairs. 

“Madam Journey, and the sheriff and myself were left 
together in the drawing-room. It was then that Madam 
Journey, pale as death, told me the purport of the paper she 
had read. I was so stricken with horror and amazement, 
that I half suspected I was suffering from nightmare and 
would presently awake. 

“ ‘ Now in the name of all that is merciful, who shall 
break this to my most unfortunate child ? ’ demanded the 
old lady. 

“ Do not tell her at all. Madam, until it is absolutely 
necessary for you to do so. Pursue the same course that 
your instinct first pointed out. Use a wise reticence and 
keep all newspapers out of her w'ay,’ said Mr. Wardloe. 

“ ‘ But she will insist upon going after him.’ 

“ ‘ Put her off with some excuse or other, and gain as 
much time as you can. I hope, I do hope, that there will 
be no necessity for her coming. I hope that the charges 
against him will be dismissed on further investigation. 
The whole thing appears to be a well managed conspiracy. 
If it can be shown as such, then will Mr. Brooke be dis- 
charged from custody and permitted to, return at once. If 
however, the worst should ensue, and he should be com- 


308 THE V A M I r> Y D 0 0 M . 

mitted for trial, and that trial should end in conviction, 
then, and then only, will it he necessary to break the mat- 
ter to his young wife.’ 

‘ But — the whole charge — the whole matter is so extra- 
ordinary! so inexplicable ! My anguish of spirit for Bosa- 
mond’s sake so benumbed all my faculties that I did not even 
think about the details of this affair till now ; but now — tell 
me ! what are the circumstances ? upon what evidence is all 
this dreadful charge founded ? ’ 

“ ‘ Madam, I know so little bej^dnd what is contained in 
the warrant I showed you that I cannot undertake an 
explanation at this moment. And besides, here comes my 
travelling companion,’ said Mr. Wardloe, evasively, as 
Raphael Brooke re-entered the room. 

Being soothed and encouraged by his old friend the 
sheriff, Raphael Brooke took leave of his young wife and 
her friends and went away with more calmness than could 
have been expected under such calamitous circumstances. 

After the departure of the sheriff and his prisoner, 
Madam Journey put upon me the task of explaining to 
the company (as well as I could without revealing the facts) 
what had just occurred. 

I told them that a sudden exigency, arising out of 
affairs that involved Mr. Brooke’s right and title to his 
South Carolinian estate, had called that gentleman back to 
his native State. This you perceive was the truth, as far as 
it went ; but not the whole truth, which certainly under 
the circumstances I did not feel called upon to reveal. 

Yet, somehow or other, the impression spread that 
calamity had either already fallen upon the family of Hen- 
niker, or was immediately impending over it. And the 
guests gradually made their excuses for shortening their 
visit and one by one took their leave. 

I should have gone with the others, but that at Madam 
Journey’s earnest request I remained. Then that lady sent 


TERRIBLE CHARGES. 


809 


for Father Waldemar to come to her immediately. And the 
good man obej’^ed the summons and presented himself at 
Henniker House the same evening. She had an interview 
v\Mth the priest in her own room, at which besides themselves 
I only was present. 

‘‘ She informed him that the young man he had intro- 
duced and vouched for had just been arrested and taken 
away on a charge of felony, and that the warrant had de- 
signated him, Kaphael Brooke, a quadroon and the reputed 
son of Baphael Brooke, deceased. Having told him this, 
the old lady looked fixedly at the priest to note the etfect it 
should have upon him. 

Father Waldemar was greatly astonished — struck dumb, 
as it wore, and for a minute or more had not a word to sa3\ 
When he did speak it was wdth great emphasis. Striking 
his hand upon the table he exclaimed ; 

^ This is misapprehension or conspiracy ! I hnom that 
his father Baphael Brooke, married Euphrasie Darusmont.’^’ 

At the sound of this name Vandeleur started ; but 
recovered himself. 

‘ I was present at the wedding. I was scarcely grown 
then and was assisting at the high mass at which the cere- 
mony was performed. I know that Eaphael Brooke the 
younger is the onl^” son of this marriage. I became his 
tutor in his childhood.’ 

“ ‘ Then you think these charges without foundation in 
truth ? ’ said Madam Journey. 

‘ Without the slightest, Madam,’ answered Father 
Waldemar. 

‘ Then how could they have arisen ? Who could have 
Bet them on foot ? ’ 

“ ‘ Stop, stop, let us reflect who would be benefited by the 
setting aside of this young man’s claim to his father’s 
estate. — I have it! Judah Brakeman, a nephew of the 
late Kaphael Brooke, the only son of his only sister. He 
would be the next heir failing our Kaphael.’ 


810 


THE F A IM I L Y DOOM. 


‘‘‘But could au}’^ man be so infernal? And if so, upon 
what could be found such a preposterous and cruel charge ? ^ 
asked Madam Journey. 

“ ‘ It is wrong to judge, but we are searching for the 
truth. I have known him also from his childhood up. 
He also was my pupil, sharing the studies of his cousin, 
under the roof and under the protection of his uncle. But 
he was of an envious, ungrateful, grasping nature — a thor- 
oughly evil nature. And I suspect now, the circumstance 
upon which he has founded his charge.’ 

‘“What? What?’ 

“ ‘ The very dark complexion of Euphrasie Darusmont, 
and the fact that her father and herself were both strang- 
ers in Charleston, and no one but Rnphael Brooke the elder, 
knew anything about them. I need not enter into details, 
but you see what a pretense he might have set up on that 
ground.’ 

“ ‘ Yes, yes, to be sure.’ 

“ ‘ Of course I do not know that this is the true explana- 
tion of the affair. But it is the only one that occurs to 
me. Let me ask here, where are Kosamond and her moth- 
er ? How do they bear this shock ? ’ 

“ The better, that they do not know the worst. We 
have decided to keep it from them for the present. They 
think that Mr. Brooke has been suddenly called home by 
some question arising there as to the validity of his right to 
hie father’s estate.’ 

“ ‘ That was prudent. It is always well to save unneces- 
sary pain, when a little wise reserve will do it. As for my- 
self, I shall make arrangements to go at once to South 
Carolina to the assistance of my young friend. I shall try 
to start by the next boat. Keep up a good trust in Heaven, 
Madam, and all will be well in the end,’ said the priest, 
rising to bid us good-bye. 

“ The next day I left Henniker House. Several days of 


TERRIBLE CHARGES. 


311 


the most intense anxiety and suspense passed slowly enough 
away. And then a letter came from Charleston. But it 
was not from Raphael Brooke, or to an^'^ of the ladies of 
Henniker. It was from Sheriff Wardloe, and to me. It 
contained news that I was to break gently to fair friends 
at Henniker. There had been an examination before a 
magistrate. The testimoii}’ against the accused was very 
strong. He had been committed for trial ; but was after- 
wards released on bail. He was then at the sheriff’s own 
house. But the intense mental excitement he suffered had 
culminated in a brain-fever, of which he was now lying 
dangerously ill. 

“ I went immediately to Henniker, taking care to leave 
the letter behind, lest the ladies should ask to see it. 

“ I sent for Madam Journey to the drawing-room, and I 
told her the truth. She was greatlj’^ shocked, but agreed 
with me still to keep the worst of the news from Rosamond. 
She went then to her grand-daughter, and told her that I 
had got a letter from Mr. Wardloe ; that Raphael was his 
guest, that the law business was in an unfinished state, and 
that under those circumstances it might be well for her to 
go on and join her husband. The old lady judged it best 
not to inform the young wife of her husband’s extreme ill- 
ness and danger until after the long journey with its 
fatigues and anxieties should be over. 

Fortunately for them. Father Waldemar had not started 
on his mission — could not have done so, in fact, since he 
was waiting for the boat that would pass the next day. 
Madam Journey sent for him that afternoon, and had a long 
confidential interview with him. 

They then made hasty preparation to leave home; and 
Madam Journey, Mrs. Brooke and Father Waldemar left 
the next day, by the steamer, for ISTorfolk, en route for 
Charleston. 

^‘Now, Mr. Vandeleur I was not eye and ear witness 


812 


THE F A M I L T DOOM. 


to wliat happened after they reac])ed South Carolina. 1 
can only speak of those events from liearsay — and not very 
fully from that, since every one naturally shrank from con- 
versing on the subject. However, thus much I can tell : 

“ "When they reached Charleston, the whole party took 
rooms at a hotel, and Father Waldemar went at once to the 
sheriff’s house, to enquire about Faphael Brooke. He 
found him quite unconscious, lying, in fact, in a state of 
coma, that usually, in such cases, ends in death. With 
this report he returned to Madam Journey, accompanied 
by the sheriff, who came to tender the hopitalities of his 
bachelor’s establishment to the young wife of his dying 
charge and to her protectress. 

‘‘ The two ladies thankfully accepted this offer, and took 
leave of Father Waldemar, who, on his part, went to stay 
with a brother priest. 

‘‘ On their way to Mr. Wardloe’s residence, Mrs. Brooke, 
W’hose anxious questions were quite embarrassing, was told 
that her husband was ill in bed, but not how ill, or that he 
was in any danger. It was thought better that the painful 
fact should dawn upon her own observation gradually, as 
it must while she should watch her husband. 

“ Slie was introduced into his darkened chamber, and 
when she saw his unconscious form, she was told that he 
was asleep. And so slight was her experience in illness, 
that she supposed that this was only sleep. And she sat 
down by his bedside to wait patiently for his wakening. 
How long she had to wait you may imagine — through that 
day and night, and through the next day and night, and 
far into the tliird morning. In this time, the truth slowly, 
gently passed into her mind — first, that this sleep was long 
—prolonged — unnatural — dangerous — that it might termin- 
ate in death. 

“It was on the morning of the third day of watching, 
that this last fatal idea entered her head, and she jumped 


TEHIIIBLE CHARGES. 


313 


Op from her seat by his bedside and ran into the next room, 
where Madam Journey sat, and threw herself upon the old 
lady’s bosom and sobbed aloud. 

Madam Journey soothed her as well as she could, 
though she might give but little hope. And it is likely 
that Kosamond’s flood of tears relieved her overcharged 
heart more than all her grandmother’s words could do. 

At any rate, she returned to her post at her husband’s 
bedside, and sat quietly there for a few hours longer. Her 
e3'es often rested on his pale, still, death-like face. At last, 
while she was gazing fondly on it, his eyes slowly opened 
and fixed themselves upon her. A rush of joj’’ filled her 
heart. She thought that a crisis had passed, and that he 
was going to get well. At first she could not speak for joy. 
But she stooped and kissed him. 

“ ‘ You here, mj” love ? ’ he whispered, in a voice so faint 
and low, that she had to put her ear to his lips, to hear the 
question repeated. She kissed him again many times before 
she answered : 

^ Where should I be but here with you ? ’ 

“He tried to raise his hands to caress her; but, oh ! 
how deadly weak they were. She saw this, and she laid 
her head softly on the pillow beside him, and drew his hand 
to her cheek and lips, and caressed him, and told liim in 
low, cooing tones, how much she loved him ; how happy she 
was to see him so much better j and how soon she hoped 
lie would be well.” 

“ Madam Journej', who entered the room at that moment, 
says that she herself stood rooted to the spot with the pain 
she felt in witnessing poor Rosamond’s perfect confidence 
in her husband’s speedy recover^". However, a change had 
come, and Madam Journey recollected that the attendant 
ph^^sician had left orders to be informed of this change 
when it should take place, and so she left the room as 
quietly as she had entered it, and went to send d. messenger 
after Doctor Carrol. 


814 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


** How vain that summons, you will soon see. The man 
was dying — dying fast. He himself knew it. Raising his 
eyes to his young wife’s face, he murmured : 

^ My darling, I am going to leave you, and I am glad 
to go. How well — how well it is for you that I should go 
you will know soon~very soon. God bless you, dear — dear 
wife.’ 

These words were uttered with great difficulty, and they 
were his last. Their meaning had scarcelj^ time to pass 
from Rosamond’s senses to her unprepared intelligence. 
She herself had scarcely time to fix her startled ej’^es upon 
her husband’s face, before that face became still in death. 

“Rosamond’s nature was all undisciplined. She had no 
self-control in any emergency. She caught the beautiful 
dead head up upon her bosom, and screamed until her 
shrieks filled the house. 

“Madam Journey, who had alreadj^ returned, and was 
standing quietly by her side, now took her by the hand and 
firmly led her from the room. It would be useless and 
painful to dwell upon the grief of this young widow. A 
long illness, with many days of unconsciousness, mercifully 
intervened to arrest the first wild agony of her sorrow. In 
the meantime, Raphael Brooke’s remains were interred with 
unusual funeral pomp and ceremony. Madam Journey, the 
most simple and unassuming woman in the world, so far as 
her own tastes and habits go, insisted upon this manner of 
doing the utmost honors to the deceased, for the very reason 
that so foul and unmerited dishonor had been so recently 
and fatally cast upon him. I think, under the circum- 
stances, she was right. 

“At all events. Father Waldemar agreed with her, for 
he wrote the obituary notice of the departed, and ignoring 
entirely the false charges that had been made against him, 
spoke of him as the son of the late Colonel Raphael Brooke 
and spoke of his personal merits and accomplishments, 


TERRIBLE CHARGES. 315 

high and rare moral and intellectual endowments, as they 
deserved. 

And one of the first things the young widow was taken 
to see when, at the end of two months, she rode out for the 
first time, was the handsome marble mounment that marked 
her husband’s grave, and was inscribed with his name, age, 
and parentage, and also with a higli tribute to his many 
excellencies. 

“ This done Rosamond was still kept in ignorance of any 
slur that had been cast upon the name of her late husband, 
or any suit pending that endangered her own dower as his 
widow. 

“Judah Brakeman, as Father Waldemar surmised, had 
been the prosecutor in the criminal charge, and was now 
the plaintiff in the civil suit; the criminal trial had been 
forestalled by death ; but the civil suit was still pending, 
though somewhat changed in its relative parties since the 
widow of Raphael Brooke was now the defendant. Very 
little this young defendant knew about the cause she was 
defending. She had been told, that it was a claim set up 
by Judah Brakeman to her husband’s estate; but she had 
no idea of the foundation upon which this claim was laid, 
and certainl}'’ not the slightest suspicion that the legiti- 
macy of Raphael Brooke’s birth, the validity of his father’s 
marriage, and even the social status of his mother, as a free 
white woman, was called in question ; yet such was the 
case. 

“ The friends of Rosamond Brooke still kept from her 
knowledge all the darkest features of the investigation. 
She appeared in court only by her attorney. She signed 
all papers that were presented to her without reading them ; 
did all she was ever directed to do, without disputing the 
point at issue ; and asked no questions — or very few ; and 
if among them there happened to be one which it would 
have pained her to have had answered truly, her loving 


816 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


friends would so artfully bewilder and confound her under- 
standing with Latin and law terms, tliat the more they ex- 
plained the case, the more it seemed to require explanation j 
80 that, at length, the inquirer gave over in a state of 
mental confusion approximating to semi-insanity. 

“ It would be too wearisome to carry you through the 
long law-suit, and describe the intricate plot and the artful 
conspirac}', or tell of the suborned witnesses, the forged 
papers, the briberj’^ and corruption, the chicanery and per- 
jury with which it was arranged and carried on. It is 
enough to say that the suit was finally decided in favor of 
the heirs of Laphael Brooke. And in this decision there 
was not a loop for retreat from it left, not a peg upon which 
the plaintiff could hang a plea for an appeal to a higher 
court. The victory of the defendant was overwhelming, 
complete, final. The social status of Baphael Brooke and 
his heirs was fixed upon an immovable foundation. And, 
moreover, Judah Brakeman, in a well-grounded fear of a 
criminal prosecution for conspiracy and fraud, fled the 
country. 

‘^Tho suit had occupied several months, and Madam 
Journey, Mrs. Brooke, and Father Waldemar had remained 
in Charleston during its whole progress to its triumphant 
termination. Then all three of the friends set out to re- 
turn to their Maryland home. Some rumor of their trouble 
liad preceded them ; but the means of communication were 
not near so convenient then as now, nor the exchange of 
newspapers and news so frequent and general. Few knew 
anything about the law-suit, and none knew the rights of 
it. However, on the word of Father Waldemar, they were 
assured that the trial had terminated in favor of the 
Brookes. 

It was in April our friends reached Henniker. In June, 
our Berenice came to console and bless her young mother. 
She has consoled and blessed her. Mrs. Brooke looks 
happy — does she not ? 


TERRIBLE CHARGES. 


817 


Yes/’ answered Vandeleur, strangely happy for a wo- 
man who has suffered such an awful bereavement.’’ 

“ There is a cause for that — the utter ignorance in which 
she was mercifully kept of all the darker features in her 
sorrow. She thinks her husband died of the illness that 
might have taken any other person off. She has no sus- 
picion of the terrible truth that he died of brain-fever, 
brought on by the shame and agon}'’ of the most mortifying 
and debasing charge that could have been made against a 
man. And moreover, the first recovery of her spirits after 
her great bereavement dates from a certain dream she had 
during her convalescence from her confinement, and which 
made a great and lasting impression upon her mind. She 
dreamed that her husband appeared to her, arrayed in 
angelic robes, a.nd crowned with a golden circlet, and wear- 
ing, in his attitude and countenance, an expression of great 
sw^eetness and majesty, and yet withal, of sadness too. She 
thought that he told her it was only her tears that troubled 
him ; and that he would show her where he lived, and how 
happy he w^as, so tliat she should grieve no more ; that so 
saying, he took her by the hand, and they arose rapidly in 
space, and found themselves in a beautiful region, whereof, 
in the glowdng language of the Holy Bible, ^Eye hath not 
seen, nor ear heard, nor hath it entered into the imagina- 
tion of man to conceive, the glory.’ This paradise was 
peopled by the spirits of the just, made perfect — angelic 
forms of men and women and little children, wandering 
amid verdant groves and blooming flowers and sparkling 
fountains. Eosamond awoke from this dream, and found 
herself still on earth, and lying in her own bed, with her 
young infant sleeping beside her. But from tliat day she 
began to recover her spirits. She did not hesitate to tell 
this singular dream to any one who was sufficiently inter- 
ested in it to listen to her. And to this hour she declares 
that the dream was the most delightful experience she ever 


318 


THE FAMILT DOOM. 


had in her life ; that she would not part with its memory 
for any earthly good ; that her faith has been stronger, her 
hope brighter, and her life happier because of that heavenly 
vision. Mr. Vandeleur, my story is ended.” 

“ And 3’^ou have told me all ? ” inquired Vane. 

All,” answered the old man. 

“ The very worst ? ” 

The very worst.” 

Then all I have to say is this — that horrible as it .s, 
inexplicable as it is, I see nothing in it that should prevent 
my marrying Miss Brooke to-morrow if she would honor 
me with her hand,” said the young man, firmly. 

“ Ah, Vandeleur ! but she does ! I fear it would be very 
hard to persuade Berenice Brooke tliat she would not seal 
your fate, and doom j^ou to death by giving you her hand ! 
She may not believe in the malediction any more than 3’ou 
do, but she sees the precedent ! She may not consider tho 
fiimily fate, as the curse carried out, but as a chain of coin- 
cidences ; but still she is awed and terrified by the m\^stery, 
and the fear that j^ou will follow the fatal precedent, and 
form another link in the strange chain of coincidences. 
Berenice Brooke trembles without believing.” 

“ At all events, I shall see her again on my return from 
the South, and do what I can to disabuse her of this super- 
stition. And now I have kept you up verj^ late, my 
friend ! ” said Vandeleur. 

“ Xo, it is only eleven o'clock, only an hour beyond my 
usual bed-time. And really the evening has passed quickly. 
But now the tale is told, the jug is empt}’-, and the fire is 
low ; so we will see about retiring,” said the old man, con- 
sulting his big silver watch, and then rapping loudly upon 
the partition wall at his back. 

Fulvia answered the well-known summons. 

Are you tired of waiting, my dear ? ” inquired the old 
gentleman. 


THE NIGHT. 


819 


■f 

“ Tired ? ” echoed Tulvia, raising her eye- brows ; why 
we have been cracking walnuts, and eating apples, and lis- 
tening to Pike Turner telling us about his hunts and his 
fights. We shouldnT be tired all night.’^ 

“ For all that, we will have prayers, and go to bed, my 
dear. So hand me down the Bible, and then call the others 
in.” 

Fulvia cleared the little table of its plates and glasses, 
placed upon it a Bible and a lamp, and then went out and 
called her sister and their guest. 

When the}’- were all gathered together, the old man read 
a chapter from the Bible and then led his family in prayer. 
After which the sisters sang a hymn, in which the hunter 
joined with a fine, deep bass voice. Then the patriarch 
pronounced a benediction. And all bade each other good 
night, and went to rest — Vane Vandeleur escorted to his 
room by Pike Turner. 


CHAPTER XXIT. 

THE NIGHT. 

Oh 1 have passed a miserable night. 

Bo full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights. 

That as I am a Christian, faithful man, 

1 would not spend another such a night. 

Though ’twere to buy a world of happy days. — S hakespeabe. 

The room into which Pike Turner showed Vane Vande- 
leur, exhibited the same features of frugal poverty that had 
characterized the old parlor below. There was a home- 
made carpet on the floor, paper blinds at the windows, a 
patch- work quilt on the bed, a coarse linen cloth on the top 
of the plain pine dressing-table, which was adorned by a 
small looking-glass hung upon a nail ; there was a pine 
wash-stand, with an earthenware basin and ewer, and with 


820 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


crash towels ; and there were country-made chip-bottom 
chairs. But everything was beautifully clean, and bright- 
ened, besides, by the inevitable wood fire, and decorated by 
little bunches of holly, with their brilliant dark green leaves 
and glowing scarlet berries, in two old gallipots, on the 
mantel shelf. Everywhere the care and taste of the sisters 
were visible. 

I have slept worse, my friend, many a time, than you’ll 
sleep here to-night,” said the hunter, gazing with an air of 
approbation around the comfortable chamber. 

“ And so have I, and shall again. I like these homely 
country houses,” heartily agreed Vane. 

I wouldn’t depreciate any house ; I like all the houses ; 
but I had rather stop in this one when I come to these 
parts, than any other. I know I would,” said Pike, em- 
phatically. 

“ What ! rather than at Stormy Point ? ” smiled Vane, as 
visions of Pike’s agreeable old flame. Miss Pinky Skinner, 
flitted before his mind’s eye. 

Oh, yes, a deal rather. I am always at home here ; 
everybody makes me welcome. I can’t do amiss here, do 
what I will. So I never feci as if I was in anybody’s way, 
or put anybofly out, you know. The old man treats me like 
a son, and makes me free of the premises. The young 
girls let me smoke my pipe anywhere I like, if it is in their 
own room. This makes a lonely man like me feel happy 
and at home, you know. God bless them all for their 
kindness to me,” said the hunter, ferventlj’’, and raising his 
liand to his bare head, as if he would have reverently 
raised the fur cap, which, however was not there. 

They are all very fond of you, Mr. Turner, that is evi- 
dent to everybody. Their hospitality is no efibrt to them, 
Mr. Turner ? ” 

« Yes.” 

“ I wonder began Vane, and then he paused and 

hesitated. 


THE NIGHT. 


321 


Well, you M^onder what ? ” inquired Pike. 

An impertinent question : why you never married.” 

The big hunter heaved a sigh like a sough of wind 
through tlie forest trees, but made no answer. This encour- 
aged Vane to proceed. 

You are now a fine-looking man, in the prime of life. 
Put you won’t be alwaj's in your prime, you know. You 
are not going to remain as you are, nor retrograde to youth 
again. But now you have the metal in 3^ou to make a 
thriving pioneer farmer, and to raise a fine, healthy family, 
if only you would marry and settle down.” 

“ Oh, yes, I am strong and hearty enough as to that ; 
and I have money enough to take and stock a farm, and 
build and furnish a house,” sighed the hunter, as if tliey 
were rather misfortunes than anything else. 

Tlien, Mr. Turner, whj’^ are you, what you so patiieti- 
call}" called yourself just now — ‘ a lonely man ? ’ ” 

Because I lonely’’, very lonely ; and I feel it all the 
more when I go awaj^ from a good family circle like this,” 
sighed the hunter. 

There was silence for a few minutes, and then Vane ven- 
tured the remark : 

Mr. Turner, the family here are very fond of you.” 

Yes, Iieaven bless their hearts, they are,” confessed 
Pike. “ So tlie}' are.” 

Especially the sisters.” 

^^Lord love them, yes. They treat me like an elder 
orother.” 

And most especially the fair-haired Flavia.” 

God bless her sweet blue ej^es, yes ! I do believe she 
loves the old hunter.” 

And Pm sure the old hunter loves her.” 

He’d die for her ! ” burst forth Pike. 

Hadn’t he better live for her? ” laughed Vane. 

Eli ? ” exclaimed Pike, in amazement. 

20 


S22 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


“Hadn’t yon better live for her and work for her? 
Hadn’t you better ma'i'ry her, in short? ” 

Pike Turner got up and stood with his hack to the fire 
and stretched out both his arms in his astonishment. 

“ Why I never once thought of such a thing before in all 
my life ! The idea never even once came near my head ? ” 
he so emphatically exclaimed that there was no possibility 
of distrusting his words. 

“You had better begin to think of it now, then, my 
friend,” laughed Vane. 

“Why I never any more thought of any young lady in 
the way of a wedding than if I was myself a married man,” 
pursued the hunter, unable to recover from his amazement. 

“ But you are not a married man and you never Inive 
been.” 

“Ho, surely not. But I never even imagined such a 
thing as marr^dng anybody but my old sweetheart, Pinky 
Skinner, than if Pd already been her husband I” continued 
Pike. 

“ You are not engaged to her ? ” 

“ Ho, but I made her offers years ago, which she didn’t 
see fit to accept just then. So I gave her time.” 

“ Did she give you hope ? ” 

“ Hot a bit of it. She assured me that she would just as 
soon marry a gorilla as me. I told her I would give her 
time to change her miud. And so I have given her time. 
I have come back every year to renew my offei-s, and I 
came tins year to do the same, and I have done it.” 

“ And has she changed her mind yet ? ” 

“ Ho.” 

“ Do you feel very much cut up about it ? ” 

“ Ho, I don’t. You see Pve got used to rebuffs.” 

“ Do you think she will ever change her mind ?” 

“ Ho, I don’t, hardly I but I must give her time.” 

“ How much time ? ” 


THE NIGHT. 


823 


^ I don’t know.” 

“ You are both growing old.” 

I know it ; but she is my old sweetheart, and a man 
ought to be faithful and patient with a woman.” 

“Loyal heart!” exclaimed Vane, in a burst of admira- 
tion. “But as is the case with many another loyal heart, 
its loyalty is an hallucination and its object a humbug.” 

“ Pinky is not a humbug. She never deceived me ; she 
never pretended to like me ; she always told me I was a 
bear and a gorilla, and she would never have me on anj’- 
terms ; but jmu see I hoped she would change her mind,” 
said the hunter, reflectively. 

“ Mr. Turner ” 

“ Now, sir, would it inconvenience you to leave off call- 
ing me Mr. Turner and just call me Pike ? ” inquired, the 
backwoodsman. 

“Not in the slightest degree,” smilingly answered Van- 
deleur. 

“ Because 3'ou see, sir, I hardly know who you are talk- 
ing to when j^ou call me Mr. So and So. I beg your par- 
don — what was you about to say, sir ? ” 

“ Pike ! Pinky Skinner will never change her mind.” 

“ Don’t you think so, sir ? ” 

“ Never, Pike ! Miss Pinky’s mind, such as it is, ia 
given up to admiration of her old emplo^^er.” 

“ The captain, sir ? ” 

“ Of course.” 

“ Why he’s old enough to be her own father ! ” 

“Yes, but for all that she is fond of him, and jealous of 
al 3ther single women for his sake. That I take it is the 
explanation of her conduct and her bad temper also. She’d 
rather be a hired servant in his house than an honored wife 
in any other man’s.” 

“But — she’s always quarrelling with him!” exclaimed 
Pike, incredulously. 


324 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


‘^That’s her peculiar way of showing her regard. And 
observe : She never quarrels with him except about the 
widows of Widowville, of all of whom, from the old lady 
down, she is intensely jealous ; or if she ever does differ 
with him upon any other subject, it is about his going away 
from home oftener and stajung away longer than she likes. 
So you see her irritability is but the expression of her at- 
tachment and her distrust.” 

Well,” exclaimed the hunter, sitting down and slap- 
ping his knee, “ I’m blest if here ain’t an eye-opening f 
Pinky Skinner in love with the old captain ! And has been 
I dare say all the time.” 

^^Very likely. It must have begun when both were 
younger than thej^ are now. Say w^hen she was fifteen and 
he was forty-five. I have heard of strange feats of Cupid 
in my short life.” 

“ Pinky Skinner in love with the old captain ! ” ex- 
claimed the hunter, unable to get over his astonishment. 

Well, I am blest ! ” 

Yes, I think you are^ in this affair, for it enables 3’'OU 
to release yourself of all responsibilit}'' connected with Miss 
Skinner’s future.” 

Pinky Skinner in Good gracious ! Bless my soul ! 

Dear me ! Does the old captain know it, do you think ? ” 

No — his blindness is the funniest part of the whole af- 
fair.” 

Pinky Skin Ha, ha, ha ! Ho, ho, ho ! Oh, dear ! 

Does the old captain return her affections, do ^mu suppose?” 

“ I don’t know ; but I think he w'ould be quite wretched 
if he hadn’t Miss Pinky there to quarrel with him.” 

<^Well, here is an eye-opening!” again exclaimed the 
hunter, slapping his knee. 

Mr. Turner ” 

“ Fikej if it would not incommode you, sir.” 

^^Pike, then. My^ frank friend, I have put a good many 


THE NIGHT. 


825 


questions to you to-night. Now, as a general thing, it is 
considered ill-bred and impertinent for anybody but a law- 
yer or a doctor to ask questions ” 

Not at all, sir. Not the least,” hastily exclaimed Pike. 
— “ And even then they must be professional questions,” 
went on Vane, as if he had not been interrupted. 

“ Not at all, sir. Now I do assure you,” repeated Pike, 
more politely than coherently. 

‘^But circumstances alter cases ” 

— “ No indeed, sir. I beg you to believe me ” 

— And my really sincere esteem and regard for you — ” 
Oh, not at all, sir. I beg and entreat you won^t — ” 
— “ Made me a sort of Paul Pry.” 

Now look here, Mr. Vandeleur, I implore you not to 
apologize. Don’t I know it was j’^our own good-nature 
moved you to open my eyes. And if you haven’t opened 
»em,rmblowed!» , 

1 hope, Pike, you will have no remaining regrets on tlie 
score of Miss Pinky Skinner,” replied Vane, with some 
feeling. 

^^Why, no, sir. You see I thought myself in duty 
bound to come back here and make offers to her every year, 
seeing I had promised so to do. But it has come to this 
with me now ; that I no longer crave to have her all to my- 
self as much as I crave to see her well provided for and 
happy. If she is contented in her present dependent state, 
why I am. But I own I should be better satisfied if she 
was married to the old captain, as I suppose she would be 
also. Pinky Skinner in love with ! Oh, my good- 

ness ! ” 

“ I am heartily rejoiced to see you take the matter so 
cheerfully. And now I hope you will think of what I sug- 
gested to you about these lovely sisters.” 

And there’s another eye-opening! I shant be able to 
sleep a wink to-night, I know\ Or if I do, I shall dream 


826 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


of a fine farm, and of cows and calves, and liens and cliicks, 
and blue-eyed Flavia, with a blue-eyed baby in her amis ! ’’ 

I hope you may, and that your dream may come true/’ 
Well, sir, whether I sleep or not, myself, I mustn’t beep 
you from your sleep. So good night, sir, and pleasant 
dreams to yourself,” said the hunter, as he took up his own 
candle and left the room. 

When the pleasant face of the pioneer was gone, a 
shadow fell upon the countenance of Vane Yandeleur. The 
memory of the horrible story he had heard darkened his 
spirit. He went to bed but could not go to sleep. Or if 
by good luck he fell into a light slumber, his imagination 
was busy with visions of the past. 

In dreams he was whirled through the dazzling splendors 
of the ‘‘ Merry Monarch’s ” brilliant court, among its gay 
and gallant courtiers, and its beautiful, baleful court-ladies. 

In dreams he wandered through the primeval forest of 
provincial Maryland, and sat in the wigwams of her red 
sons, and listened to the songs of her dusky daughters, or 
chased the fox or tracked the deer. 

In dreams he sat at the sumptuous feast, where the 
treacherous beauty destroyed her lover in attempting to 
poison her rival. He saw the Indian widow’s inspired form 
as she raised her eyes and hand to Heaven, and called down 
its just vengeance upon the murderess and her daughters 
forever. 

He saw her again as she stood upon the scaffold, guarded 
by the soldierj", and surrounded by the hooting mob, yet 
beautiful and majestic in the dignity and patience of her 
sorrow ; as she yielded up her nursing infant to the care of 
the compassionate keeper, and received into her brave 
bosom that swift, sure shaft from her father’s bow that 
saved his daughter from the degradation of the rope. He 
saw her dying look of joy. 

In dreams he saw and sj^mpathized with the abduction 


THE NIGHT. 


r»2T 

of the beautiful novice by her spirited lover, and he sliouted 
to the maiden to hold fast, and to the youth to ride for their 
lives, and not spare whip or spur — So shouting he awoke. 

Day was just dawning, as he could see through the blue- 
shaded window. The house was very still, no one seemed 
to be awake or stirring. It was too early to rise and dress j 
so Vane just stepped out of bed, took up several heavy logs 
from the pile of wood at the chimney-corner, and laid them 
on the smouldering fire. Then, leaving them to burn 
slowly, he got into bed again, and being very much exhaus- 
ted in mind and bod}^, he soon fell into a deep and dream- 
less sleep. 

Fortunately for the fatigued guest, there was no such 
iron rule about early rising here as prevailed at Widowville, 
and somewhat detracted from its otherwise generous hospi- 
tality ; nor yet was there any boisterous, old sporting cap- 
tain to rouse one up early in the morning with an alarum 
about ducks and guns; so Vane Vandeleur was allowed to 
sleep undisturbed far into the forenoon. When he awoke- 
again, it was broad day. The snow-storm was evidently 
over, for the morning sun was shining through the blue 
paper shades of his windows, filling the room with a soft 
azure light. The logs that he had laid upon the smoulder- 
ing fire were in a bright blaze. 

He felt refreshed by his long sleep and cheered by the 
pleasant aspect of his chamber. But he feared that he had 
kept the family waiting for their breakfast ; so he got up at 
once, dressed quickly, and went down stairs. 

He found the table set for breakfast in the parlor and 
the sisters seated at needle-work by the fire. Ho one else 
was in the room. 

“Good morning, young ladies ! I fear that I have kept 
you waiting breakfast,’’ said Vane, as he entered the room. 

“ Oh, no ; not at all,” replied Fulvia, as she arose, with 
a smile, to give him her hand in greeting. 


S28 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


*‘Our uncle has not come down yet j though, as we lieai 
him stirring in his room, we may expect him soon,’^ achled 
Flavia, as she also arose and pushed back her chair to make 
room for the guest at the fire. 

“ And Mr. Turner ? ” inquired Vane, as he took t])e 
offered seat. 

Oh, Pike ! bless his old soul, he took his gun and went 
after ducks. He keeps us in game while he is here. And 
he has just returned with a half-a-dozen brace, and l)as 
gone to wash his hands,” answered Pulvia. 

And here comes Uncle Basil now !” said Plavia, start- 
ing up to meet her beloved old relative with her usual 
morning kiss. 

The old gentleman came in smiling a benediction upon 

all. 

“ A pleasant morning, sir ! a very pleasant morning, 
after the little spurt of a snow-storm we had last night,” he 
said, advancing alid holding out his hand to Yane. 

Very, indeed,” replied the young man, cordiallyreturn- 
ing the greeting. 

You ‘ supped full of horrors ^ last night, sir ; but I hope 
you didn^t suffer from indigestion or have the night-mare 
after it,” said Mr. Wall. 

‘‘Thanks! I slept very late in the morning. I had 
feared that I had kept you waiting breakfast.” 

“ Oh, no ; I am often late m3^self. I have come to the 
• time of life when rest seems to be one of the best things in 
the world — a preparation, I suppose, to reconcile us to the 
last long rest,” said the venerable man. “But we will 
have breakfast now, my dears, if you please,” he added 
cheerfully, turning to the girls. 

Both the sisters arose and left the room, to bring it in. 

“We have no servant in the house, sir, but one old negro 
woman, who is our cook and laundress. And my darlings 
spare her old limbs as much as they can, by using their 


THE NIGHT. 829 

own. They do all the housework, besides helping her with 
the fine ironing and the fancy cooking.” 

Vane smiled his approval of this. 

The sisters soon returned — one bringing a pot of coffee, 
and the other a pot of chocolate. 

<‘But where is Pike Turner, my dears?” inquired theii 
uncle. 

Up in his room. He will be down by the time we get 
breakfast on the table,” answered Pulvia, as she and her 
sister hurried out to fetch the toast, and the muffins, the 
fried ham, the fresh eggs, and the broiled chickens. 

By the time they were all ready to take their seats, Pike 
entered, and gave the gentlemen a hearty good morning. 
The sisters he had seen earlier. 

As tliey sat around the table. Vane was pleased and 
amused to notice tlie change that had come over the back- 
woodsman. He was always cleanly in his person and in 
his dress as any Bramin, but he had been a little careless 
as to its arrangement. Now his costume was precise. Be- 
sides this, he stole furtive glances at the fair-haired Flavia, 
and blushed up to the roots of his hair when detected in 
them j to say nothing of his trying to carve his wing of the 
chicken with a tea-spoon, or his putting a knife into his 
coffee, or in many another manner conducting himself like 
a quiet madman. These eccentricities are perhaps too com- 
mon to boys in love, especially to old boys in love, to be 
worthy of notice here, only that they were a little remark- 
able as affecting the stout hunter. When breakfast was 
over. Vane Vandeleur arose, and with many expressions of 
gratitude and regard for the kindness and hospitality of his 
host, prepared to take his leave. 

If you are going directly back to Stormy Point, sir, I 
will bear you company, if you have no objection, as I have 
'an errand there also,” said the backwoodsman, who, since 
the preceding night, had evinced a very great predilection 
for the society of the young gentleman. 


830 


THE FAMII. Y DOOM. 


Yes, I am going there and shall be very glad to give 
you a seat in my sleigh, said Yane, promptly. 

‘‘ I wasn’t thinking of that, sir. I wasn’t wishing to in- 
trude on you at all. I was about to offer you a snug place 
in my wagon and to propose that old Boobydebil should 
take the sleigh home. I think we had better go in the 
wagon, sir, as it can be closed to keep this piercing wind- 
out, which we shall otherwise have in our faces. And, if 
you’ll excuse me for saying it, sir, I don’t think you have 
been used to roughing it as much as I have,” said Pike, 
persuasively. 

“ I have ‘ roughed it ’ a great deal, my friend, both by 
land and sea; but as you prefer the wagon, so be it; we 
will ride in that, and send the sleigh home by tlie old ne- 
gro,” smiled Vane. 

“ Then I’ll go out and see about it all, sir,” said Pike, 
leaving the room. 

Neither Old Basil Wall nor the two sisters had overheard 
this conversation, which had been carried on in a low 
voice at one of the front windows. So when Pike returned 
to the room equipped for his drive, they were all taken by 
surprise. 

“•Wh}^, you are not going to leave us, too. Pike, I 
hope ? ” remonstrated the old gentleman. 

“ Only for the da}’^, sir. I couldn’t possibly do it for a 
longer time, at least not while I stay in this neighborhood. 

I shall be back again to-night, Mr. Wall.” , 

“ That is a good fellow. We shall expect you,” said the 
old gentleman. Then, turning to his younger guest, he 
added — “ And as for you, Mr. Vandeleur, when you come 
back to the neighborhood, we shall hope to have you with 
us very often ; and we shall always be very glad to .see 
you.” 

Vane made a suitable reply, and then he and his travel- ' 
ling companion took leave of the family and departed. 


THE NIGHT. 


331 


As the}^ seated themselves in the fur-lined wagon, they 
saw the sleigh with Bobadilla in the driver’s seat flying be- 
fore them so fast that in a minute it had flown out of sight. 

“ There,” said Pike, with a little, half-smothered laugh, 

do you see that ? Who could have talked comfortably or 
comprehendingly while flying over the country on a flash 
of lightning, like that sleigh ? And I wanted to talk to 
you about — you know what, Mr. Vandeleur, sir ! ” 

“ Fair-haired Flavia ? ” suggested Vane. 

The backwoodsman nodded, and said : 

“ You see, I reallj^ don’t suppose you mind rough weather 
any more than I do ; but I knew we couldn’t talk in the 
sleigii, and so I wanted to persuade you to come in the 
wagon.” 

“ Yes, I understand that.” 

“ Mr. Vandeleur, sir, it does seem to me sometimes that 
the little angel does like the old hunter,” murmured the 
backwoodsman, with a strangely blended air of simplicity, 
frankness and diffidence. 

I am very sure she does,” replied Vandeleur, emphat- 
ically. 

“ But yet it seems impossible she should like me, and 
very presumptuous in me even to hope it — very — when I 
come to think of it.^’ 

‘‘But why ? I confess I don’t see why.” 

“ Oh, sir, she is such a delicate beauty, and I am such a 
rough old rhinoceros, as Pinky Skinner called me,” said 
the hunter, falling into discouragement. 

“But Pike, do you think that ‘delicate beauties’ care 
for nothing else in this world but good looks ? Do you 
think tliey make no account of manliness, courage, gener- 
osity, lo3^alt3^, magnanimity ? — all of which qualities you 
show in every act of jmur life, old friend.” 

“Oh, sir, don’t you give me praise for all these, which I 
know I really don’t possess, for it sounds like, it sounds 
like ” 


332 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


Flattery. I know it does, my good friend. But there 
are some men, and you are one of them, of whose qual- 
ities one cannot speak justly without seeming to flatter.’^ 

I hope I’m a true man, that is the most I hope for my- 
self, and that is the best any one can say of me, be he ever 
so much my friend.” 

‘‘ And that includes all the rest, Pike.” 

“But I’m such a rough fellow, sir. And she’s — she’s 
such a delicate, fairy creature,” sighed the hunter, verging 
on despondency. 

“ Pike, did you ever hear of Othello ? ” 

“ Surely, sir, and seen it played, too, in St. Louis.” 

“ Well, that play was written hy a perfect master of hu- 
man nature — one who knew men’s hearts, and especially 
women’s hearts, better than they knew their own. And he 
has shown us Desdemona, the delicate, refined, young pa- 
trician maiden falling in love with Othello the Moor — a 
man not only ‘ declined into the vale of years,’ as he him- 
self says, but a blackamoor to boot. Now, Pike, you have 
not ‘ declined into the vale of years,” nor are you a blacka- 
moor. You are a veiy handsome man in your way, and 
you are in the prime of life. You have besides won the 
heart of your Desdemona as Othello won the heart of his — • 
by truth, courage, generosity, magnanimity, and all great 
manly qualities. Take heart of grace and try your fortunes 
with the young lady,” said Vane, encouragingly. 

“ Oh, sir, when I think what a change the love of that 
angel would make in my life — how it would brighten and 
bless it, I feel that it would be too much joy.” 


AN UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER. 


333 


CHAPTER XXV. 

AN UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER. 

A hundred thousand welcomes! I could weep 

And 1 could laugh I I’m light and heavy ! Welcome ! — Shakespeabb. 

It gives me wonder, great as my delight. 

To see you here before me! — Shakespeare. 

Tnus talking confidentially together, the young gentle- 
man and the simple-hearted hunter rumbled on, side by 
side, on the front seat of the wagon. 

Pike held the reins ; but he could scarcely be said to 
drive, for the road was plain, and the horses took their own 
pace. The hunter was of a frank and confiding, though 
modest, nature, and so he liked to pour all his new tlioughts 
and feelings into the ears of the young friend who had in- 
deed first drawn them forth, and now encouraged them so 
much. 

It was near noon when the}’’ reached Stormy Point. Bo- 
badilla with the sleigh, had been there an hour before them. 
The old captain was expecting them, and so was his estima- 
ble housekeeper, to judge by the number of plates that 
were laid upon the dinner-table. 

“Glad to see you, Mr. Vandeleur; glad to see you in 
again. And you too. Pike, old friend, though how you do 
flit about the country, Pike ; especially to old Mr. Basil 
Wall’s. I begin to suspect there’s some attraction there, 
e). ? eh ? ” exclaimed the captain, quite at random ; for ho 
had not the slightest suspicion of the hunter’s growing ad- 
miration for the fair-haired Plavia. 

But Pike betrayed himself by blushing up to his eyes, 
like any love-lorn school-boy, which occasioned the old cap- 
tain to chuckle and crow loudly, and exclaim, to Pike’s 
overwhelming confusion : 

“ Ah ha ! ah ha ! I thought so ! Oh, you sly old fox ! 


334 


T il E FAMILY DOOM. 


and then to clap the hunter heartily on the shoulder and 
wish him well through it/’ 

And then he turned to Vandeleur and asked after the 
family at old Mr. Basil Wall’s, and, having received satis- 
factor}^ answers, said : 

Well, I’m glad they’re all hearty, because I’m going to 
send Hal, over there to visit the sisters. Blest if I can see 
what’s come over Hal. If I didn’t know better, I should 
think the girl was in love. Last night she played whist 
with me against Dick and Harry ; and if you’ll believe me, 
she trumped all my tricks and none of theirs ; returned all 
their leads and none of mine; played her king upon Har- 
ry’s ace, when she had two other smaller cards of the same 
suit ; revoked three times, and otherwise conducted herself 
in such an insane and ridiculous manner, that if she had 
been a little child instead of a j’oung woman, I should have 
jumped up and whipped her on the spot. For you know, 
witli a tender humanity and just logic, we whip little chil- 
dren when they anno}’’ us, because they are so little, and it 
is so easy and safe to do it, as they can make no resistance 
to us at the time, nor any appeal against us afterwards.” 

“ I don’t whip children. Captain,” answered Vane, “ nor 
neither, I’d stake 1113’' life upon it, does Pike Turner.” 

Whj" I’d die ; I’d be torn to pieces and eaten up by a 
pack of prairie wolves, before I’d do such a thing,” emphat- 
icall3’ struck in the hunter. 

“ And I’m equally sure the captain would make himself 
food for fishes before he would hurt a hair of a child’s licad. 
But hush ! here comes Miss Skinner. I wish I could say 
as much for her,” muttered Vane, as Miss Pinky entered in 
state, bearing the tureen of soup in her hands, and followed 
by her two attendants, with other covered dishes. 

Halcyone came down to join the circle at the table ; but 
she was not our Halcyone at all. She was some other 
young woman, evidently subject to a chronic depression of 


AN UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER. 835 

spirits, and now suffering from an acute attack of pain in 
her temper. 

Vandeleur, not knowing anything about the scene that 
liad occurred at Hourie Hall, wondered as much as any one 
else at the change that had come over the bright .bird at 
Stormy Point. 

After dinner, Halcyone and Pinky Skinner both with- 
drew, leaving the five gentlemen still seated around the ta- 
ble, over their wine, and walnuts, pipes and cigars. 

“ Youfil not leave us again until you are compelled to 
start on your journey, I hope, Mr. Vandeleur,” said the 
host puffing away at his pipe. 

I must ride over to the village to see about securing my 
seat in the Washington coach that passes through there to- 
morrow evening, as I understand. But I shall return and 
spend the night here, of course,” answered Vane. 

“ Ah, well — I’m glad of that. Now we shall have a so- 
ciable game of whist this evening, and I shall have a sane 
partner, and with your help Pll have my revenge on Dick 
and Harry for the unhandsome way in which they took ad- 
vantage of my partner’s lunacy last night,” chuckled the 
captain. 

After one moderate glass of sherry, sij^ped slowly to keep 
conipanj" with the other men who were drinking more and 
faster, Vane arose and excused himself to his host. 

As the slippery state of the roads did not yet encourage 
equestrian exercise, the little one-horse sleigh was again 
put in requisition, and Mr. Vandeleur sped off towards the 
village of Henniker. 

It was a mere little way-station of a sea-port, situated at 
the mouth of Henniker Creek, but on the south point oppo- 
site to that of Henniker House, which was on the north 
point. It consisted of a steamboat landing, a country hotel, 
a couple of warehouses, a dry-goods store, a grocery, an 
apothecary shop, a doctor’s office, a wheelwright and black- 


336 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


smith’s shed, and about a dozen dwelling houses of various 
degrees from the doctor’s comfortable cottage to the labor- 
er’s cabin. Nearly' all, if not all the real estate in the vil- 
lage belonged to Mrs. Jernyngham. 

Vandeleur drew up his sleigh at the hotel, where the 
way stage-office was kept, and got out and put down his 
name for the first vacant seat, supposing there should be 
one left when the stage should pass ; for, as the agent in- 
formed him, they might all be taken in the town from 
which it started. 

Having, however, done his best to secure it, and promised 
to be on the spot an hour before the stage would be expect- 
ed, so as to be in full time, Vandeleur turned into the 
grocery store which adjoined the hotel, and where the post- 
office was kept. He went in not with any expectation of 
getting letters, but upon mere speculation. 

^•Letters, sir? Name of Vandeleur, sir? Yes, sir; 
here’s one came by this morning’s mail. Glad you hap- 
pened to call for it in such good time, sir. Your other 
letters, 1 think, if I remember right, remained here a week 
We only get the mail in these parts once a week, sir,” said 
the gossiping post-master in reply to Vane’s inquiries j 
volunteering this information while he tumbled over the 
piles of letters looking for the one that was wanted. At 
last he found it and handed it over to its right owner. It 
proved to be from Bishop Waldemar. 

Withdrawing a short distance from the counter to be out 
of the way of other customers. Vane opened the envelope 
and to his surprise read this : 

St. Helen’s, New Okleans, December—, 18—. 

My Dear Son in the Lord : — Immediately after I 
wrote to you enclosing the testimonials you asked for, I 
received a notice from Brother Ignatius summoning me to 
your present neighborhood on business of importance. I 


AN UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER. 337 


write now only to say that if this should reach you before 
you leave for the South, 3^00 will please remain where you 
are and await my arrival. I shall be with 3mu almost as 
soon as this letter. Commending 3’'ou to the care of the 
saints, I remain, dear son, 3’our poor father in the Lord, 

John Waldemau. 

!Much surprised, and still more pleased at the purport of 
the bishop’s letter, since it relieved him of the painful duty 
of leaving the neighborhood where Berenice lived. Vane 
VandeleUr hastilj’ folded and put it in his pocket, and hur- 
ried back to the hotel to countermand the half-secured seat 
in the Washington coach. 

Then it occurred to liim to inquire for letters for his old 
host ; so he returned to the post-office, and upon asking for 
them, received two letters and a newspa{)er. With these 
lie re-entered his sleigh and sped on towards Stormy Point, 
which he reached in time for the captain’s comfortable tea. 

I am like the domestic spongers, I alvva^ys drop in about 
meal times,” said Vane, as he smilinglj'- sprang from his 
sleigh, threw the reins to Bobadilla, and ran up the porch 
steps to meet Captain Storms, who had come out to meet 
him. Vane handed the old man his letters and newspaper. 

From Morrison and Morphy at last,” exclaimed the old 
gentleman, as he received them, and led the way into the 
house, followed by Vandeleur. 

Leaving his guest to be entertained by the other members 
of his ffimily, the captain retired to a den that he called his 
office, chiefly because he never did any business in it, to 
read and perhaps to answer his Baltimore correspondents’ 
letter. 

As Halcyone did not attempt to amuse Vane, Vane be- 
thought himself that he would try to divert her, but alack ! 
for his good intentions, his overtures were met wdth a re- 
quest from her to be let alone. While he was yet wonder- 
21 


838 


THE FAMII.Y DOOM. 


ing whether this brilliant creature could really be going 
melancholy mad, and if so, what could have caused the 
calamity, the captain returned to the room, wdth so cheer- 
ful a countenance, that Yane felt assured he had received 
good news. 

Every one but Halcyone sat down to the tea table in 
excellent spirits. 

When it was over Pike Turner took leave of the captain 
and his household, and rather astonished everybody by 
holding the hand of Miss Skinner in his own at parting, 
and saying : 

Well, Pinky, for the sake of the old times passed, and 
the old dreams faded, my last words to you on that head is, 
God bless you, Pinky, and make you happier that I could 
have done.” 

Miss Skinner received this benediction with the request 
that Mr Turner wouldn’t make a fool of himself. 

Moved by a sort of inviting glance from the hunter’s hon- 
est eyes. Vane followed him out into the porch. 

“ You wouldn’t mind going a piece of the road wdth me, 
would you, Mr. Vaiideleur?” inquired Pike. 

“ Certainly not,” replied Vane. 

And they walked together to where the wagon stood and 
climbed into it. 

Pike drove slowly olF. When they had got clear of the 
yard, the hunter turned to his companion and said: 

Well, sir, I have settled with Pinky forever and evei^ 
amen ! ” 

‘‘ Have you ? I am glad to hear it.” 

‘‘ Thank you, sir. I am glad to have it over.” 

“ That was your business here to-day ? ” 

That was my business, sir. I thought, you see, of the 
old maxim, < to be off with the old love before we be on 
with the new,’ and so I came here to have a last understand- 
ing with Pinky, sir.” 


AN UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER. 839 

Vane thought that the honest hunter might have had that 
‘‘last understanding” years ago, if he had been as willing 
to receive it then as now ; but he refrained from saying 
60, and the hunter continued : 

“ So I took the opportunity to-da}^, sir, you being gone to 
the village, the other gentlemen sitting smoking around the 
fire, and little Halcyone, as I understood, sulking in her 
own room, and I went and found Pinky in the room next 
to the kitchen, where she spends her time when she is not 
in the kitchen. Well, sir, I made offers to her again. 
Sincere offers, sir ; for, if she had accepted them, I should 
have taken her ‘ for better, for worse,’ and tried to forget 
the short sunshine of dear Flavians presence, and to have 
made my wife happy. But, sir, as soon as ever I had made 
my offers, she nearly snapped my head off.” 

“ I am very glad to hear it. I would rather she had 
quite snapped your head off than married you, my good 
Pike, for I think the first-named fate would have been 
better for you than the last. But what in reality did the 
amiable virgin say ? ” 

“ She flashed round upon me, as if she would have blast- 
ed me — she did indeed, sir! And she said, as near as I 
can recollect ” 

“ ‘ You intolerable, insupportable, incourageahle brute ! 
you are a moneymaniac on marrying me. You have asked 
me twenty times, and I have refused you as many. And 
you’re getting worse as you grow older. You never used to 
ask me but once a year, and that was when you would come 
on in the spring. And this year 3^ou have come on both 
spring and winter, and asked me both times. And now 
you ask me again — which makes three times in one 3"ear. 
And if you ever mention such a thing to me again as long 
as you live. I’ll send for a constable and have you taken up, 
and made to give bonds to keep the peace towards me.’ 

“ That was a very decisive answer, you know, sir. There 
was no such thing as misunderstand that.” 


840 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


should tliink it was decisive — and clear/’ said Vane. 

“ I’ll never mention the subject to you again as long as 
I live, Pinky. I won’t indeed,” I said. 

^ I’m not agoing to be tormented out of my life by you, 
and that I tell you !’ she kept on saying. 

Indeed I’ll never torment you any more, Pinky,’ I 
pleaded. 

And it has been all along of yow, hanging after me all 
this time that has kept off your betters,’ she said, very 
angrily. 

“ ‘ I’ll not hang after you any longer, Pinky,’ I answered. 
And then, sir, I thought of what you had said about her 
liking somebody else. And sir, I felt conscience stricken, 
though I knew I had meant well. But now indeed, sir, do 
3^ou think I had any hand in spoiling her prospects in that 
direction,” inquired the hunter, uneasily. Because,” he 
added, “ her words have troubled me so much that that was 
one reason why I wanted you to come a piece of the way 
with me, so I might ask you.” 

“ Not in the least, my good friend. Your devotion has 
been an honor to Miss Skinner, and has raised her in the 
estimation of all men. As to her ‘prospects in that direc- 
tion,’ they were and are more visionary than any castle in 
the air I ever heard of. When a man marries his house- 
keeper, it is usually when he is in danger of being left alone 
in his old age, and he doesn’t often do it then.” 

“ I am glad to hear you say so. I am quite relieved to 
find that I haven’t hurt her fortunes after all. Well, sir, 
my talk with Pinky ended there, with the exception of the 
few last words I spoke to her at parting.” 

“ And now you are a free man in your own estimation, as 
you always have been in reality. And I congratulate you.” 

Thank you, sir, heartily.” 

They had now reached the outer gate of the farm that 
opened upon the hi^rhwa}'-, and Vane shook hands with Pike, 
and again wished l.im joy. 


BISHOP WALDEMAR. 


341 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

BISHOP WALDEMAR. 

"Tis not the play of high-toned sense. 

Nor keenly-eyed intelligence, 

Which have the power we know so W'dl, 

To charm ns ; — but a deeper spell, 

A something in his holy life. 

Which unapproachable by strife. 

Sheds its own hallow round.” — W illiams. 

After leaving tlie wagon, Vane Vandeleur walked 
rapidly across the footpath tlirougli the liard-frozen field, and 
so reached the farm-house by a shorter route than the old 
road. 

Come,’’ exclaimed the hearty host, was afraid you 
had given me the slip, and gone off at a tangent ; but here 
you are at length, and now we’ll have out the cards, and 
you and I will beat the very wits out of Dick and Harry. 
Come, shall we ? ” 

With great pleasure,” smiled Vandeleur. 

“And we’ll have an extra oyster supper by-and-by. It 
is your last evening here, and, bless you, it shall be your 
merriest.” 

“ Oh, but it is not my last evening, thank fortune ! I 
may spend many, very many, merry evenings with you yet,” 
said Vane pleasantly, 

“ What do yon say ? Oh, yes, I know. When you come 
back — if you ever come back. I have heard all that before, 
and it is not particularly consoling,” grumbled the old 
sailor. 

“ But, my kind friend, I’m not going away just yet,” 
smiled Vane. 

“ Eh ! ” exclaimed the captain, opening his eyes. 

<‘Ko, I shall stay to play whist with you, or to plague 
you a little while longer— till ^mu turn me out, perhaps. 

“ Of course, you think I am very likely to do that.” 


342 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


Well, at any rate, I may stay until the river opens, 
and the ^Carrier’ is righted and repaired, and then re- 
embark and resume my voj^age as if nothing had hap- 
pened.’’ 

And you feel sure that you will be very heartily wel- 
come, sir. Now don’t think me rude or inquisitive, but I 
can’t understand this. A few hours since you were all for 
going, chains wouldn’t have held you here.” 

“ Because I was called away — that is, ordered away. 
But orders may be countermanded, you know. Bead that 
letter, if 3^ou please,” said Yane, putting the bishop’s epistle 
in the captain’s hands. 

The old sailor read it with gradually dilating eyes, and 
then returned it, saying: 

“ Father John is a man of mysteries. What can bring 
him here ? What business can possibly arise in this out- 
of-the-way place of sufficient importance to bring the Bight 
Beverend Bishop John Waldemar here ! Can yon sur- 
mise ? ” inquired the captain, turning full upon his guest. 

Not in the least.” 

Well, it is of no use to bother our brains about it. I am 
glad of any circumstance that has delayed 3'our departure.” 

Vandeleur bowed his thanks. 

And now let’s have the card table out. And where the 
deuce have Dick and Harry gone to ? I do believe they 
have made off, in the anticipation of the thrashing they’re 
going to get. Hal. !” exclaimed the captain, startling his 
ward, who was sitting quietly iu a corner of the room, with 
a book in her hand, reading, or more likelj^ pretending to 
read, since the volume was onlj^ an interesting work on the 
art and mystery of “ Tanning and Currying.” 

^‘Hal.!” 

^‘Yes, guardy.” 

‘‘ Go hunt up your friends, Dick and Harry, and tell them 
to come in here, and be whipped.” 


BISHOP WALDEMAR. 


843 


Halcyone left her seat, and went heavily out of the room 
upon her errand. 

“Now, can any soul alive tell what ails that girl?’^ 
groaned the captain, as he looked after her. 

“Perhaps she suffers for the society of other young 
people,” suggested Vane, 

“That’s it!” cried the captain, slapping his knee. 
That’s it ! and I wonder whj’^ I never thought of it. 

* No bird whose feathers g:aily flaunt. 

Delights in cage to bide; 

Norhani is grim and grated close, 

Hemmed in by battlemeut and fosse. 

And many a darksome tower; 

And better loves my lady bright 
To dwell in liberty and light, 

In fair Queen Margaret’s bower.’ 

Or, if not exactly so, why Stormy Point is a dreary old 
place, especially in the winter time, and without young wo- 
men. And Hal. is lonesome and moping. So I shall send 
her ‘ to dwell in liberty and light ’ in old Mr. Basil Wall’s 
farm-house.” 

Before the captain had quite finished his speech, the sub- 
ject of it entered the room, accompanied by Messrs. Dick 
and Harrj". 

“Come, gentlemen. Pace the music. You won’t have a 
dreaming girl to encounter this time, I tell you. Well, it’s 
a good thing we never play for money, else you’d be bank- 
rupt to-night, my friends,” said the old man. 

And this vaunt was not in vain. They sat down to the 
social game, that was “ not played for money,” or any other 
stake than victory, and before thej’’ left the table, which they 
did at eleven o’clock, the old captain and his partner had 
beaten their adversaries in three rubbers straight on, and 
had “ whitewashed ” them in the last. 

Then thej^ had the promised oyster supper, over the prep- 
aration of which Miss Pinky Skinner had condescendingly 
presided, under the impression that this was to be Mr. Van- 
deleur’s last evening at Stormy Point — an impression which 


844 


T HE FAMILY DOOM. 


Messrs. Dick and Harry still shared, as at supper Dick sol- 
emnly proposed the health of their guest, wishing him a 
pleasant journey home. 

The captain winked at Vane to be silent, until the cora- 
plimentarj’’ speeches were made and the toast was duly 
drank. Then, before Vane could rise to reply, the captain 
dispelled their delusion by dryly telling them that their 
guest was not going away at all, or at least, not for a long 
time ; and much he enjoyed their embarrassment thereat. 
But Vane got up and thanked them all the same, and the 
joke was taken in good part, and everybody laughed and 
shook hands, and the evening ended as it had begun, joy- 
ously. 

Early the next morning the little one-horse sleigh was 
again called into active service, and Vane Vandeleur left 
Stormy Point for a day’s absence, to report himself and his 
changed plans to liis liege-lady at Ilenniker House. 

If my readers remember rightly thej’^ know that the turn- 
pike running along the south bank of tlua creek, just before 
it reaches the safe crossing place, passes bj' the “ Old 
Church Koad,” and in sight of the chapel and House of St. 
Kosalie. 

Now, when Vane reached this spot and saw the winding 
and ascending road and the wooded hill with the little white 
chapel and house rising above their clustering evergreens, 
he thought that he would run up there to call on the good 
priests whose heartily-offered hospitality he had hitherto 
neglected. So he turned his horse’s head and flew up the 
Old Church Boad as fast as his fleet steed could run the 
sleigh over the smooth, frozen snow. 

He turned into the home road, leading through the well- 
kept grounds, that looked pleasingly even now in the dead 
of winter, with their neatlj'^- trimmed evergreen hedges 
walks and groves. He drew up in front of the long, low 
white building, known as the priests’ home, alighted from 


BISHOP W A L D E M A R . 


845 


the sleigh and hnoched. Almost before his hand had left 
the knocker, tlie door was opened by a lay brother, who 
civilly invited him to come in, showed him through a plainly 
furnished hall to an equally plainly-furnished parlor, pressed 
him to be seated, and then went to carry in the visitors 
card to the fathers. 

Meanwhile Vane sat down upon a hard-bottomed, stiff- 
backed wooden chair, apparently designed for the mortifi- 
cation of the flesh, and gazed around him upon a variety of 
depressing pictures — rare, old, black line engravings of 
saints aTid martyrs, each and every one of them in one ex- 
treme or the other of ecstacy, or agony. While still em- 
ploying himself in this manner, the door opened, and the 
jolly form of good Father llonhomme appeared. 

How do you do? How do you do? So you have at 
length deigned to remember our invitation. Well, better 
late than never,” he said, approaching the visitor with ex- 
tended hands. 

Vane, who had risen and bowed very low, in honor of the 
holy cloth, assured the father, that, had he consulted his 
respectful feelings towards him and his brother priests, he 
should have called upon them long before. 

‘‘Well, and now there is only myself here to welcome 

you ! Father Ignatius is closeted with By the way, 

he must be a very intimate friend of yours, since he inquired 
BO particularly after ^mu ” 

“ Of whom do you speak ?” inquired Vane, wdth a fore- 
knowledge of the truth. 

“The Eight Eeverend Father in God, Bishop Walde- 
mar.” 

“ Has he arrived ? ” 

“ Yes ; took us quite by surprise this morning ; reached 
Leonard Town last night and instead of waiting for to-mor- 
row evening’s stage, hired a carriage and came on here, 
traveling all night. Almost the first question he asked waa 


846 


THE F A M I I. Y DOOM. 


whether you had left the neighborhood. We told him nO; 
but that we had heard you were going soon. He observed 
that he was glad to be told you were still here, as he had 
written to you to wait his arrival. He is now with Father 
Ignatius, as I said.” 

“ Father Francis, I hope is well ? ” 

No, far from it. He is very ill. Any other man would 
keep his bed ; but he, with all his pain and weakness, has 
gone on a round of sick calls, to help and comfort persons, 
raanj’^ of whom, as far as bodily strength goes, are much 
more able to minister to him.” 

I am Sony to hear of his ill-health. What form does it 
take, may I ask ? ” 

You may ask, indeed ; but I cannot answer, because I 
do not know. When people are wasting away, without any 
apparent disease, and the doctors do not know the cause, 
they call it ‘ decline’ or ‘consumption,’ and the}’ are so far 
right, as it is a ‘decline’ of health and strength and a ‘con- 
sumption ’ of flesh and blood. But in those cases, as in 
this, no one can tell the reason thereof,”-sighed Father Bon- 
homme. Vane hesitated whether to rise and take leave of 
Father Bonhornme, leaving his respects for the other priests, 
or to sit and stay until the interview between Bishop Wal- 
demar and Father Ignatius should come to a close, and 
give him an opportunity of meeting them. But his great 
desire to see Berenice prevailed over every other feeling and 
decided his course, and he got up to go. 

“ But had I not better let the bishop know that you are 
liere ? ” inquired Father Bonhornme, holding his visitor’s 
hand. 

“No, I think not; I will come again. I am going on to 
Henniker, and shall pass here on my return, when I will 
drop in again. By that time this private interview will be 
over. I certainly should not like to have it interrupted for 
my sake now,” said Vane. 


BISHOP W A L D E M A R . 


847 


"Well, under the circumstances, I agree with you. I 
•hall tell the bishop when he comes down. Perhaps you 
will return and dine with us ? We should all be very 
happy. Our dinner-hour is early — two o’clock.” 

" Many thanks ; but I shall dine at Henniker,” said 
Vane, shaking hands with the jolly priest. 

Once more in the sleigh, he slid over the ground and 
down the steep Old Church Poad, with a swiftness that 
threatened to shoot the little vehicle over the horse’s head. 
At the foot of the hill he turned into the highway again, 
sped up the course of the creek, crossed on the ice at the 
usual place, and then turned down the oi)posite shore, and 
so flew on to Henniker. Pie drew up at the foot of the 
terrace, threw his reins to one of a group of idle negro 
boys who were snow-balling each other on the lawn, and 
then ran up the steps to the front door, which was opened 
by Euripides, before the visitor had time to knock. 

"Are the ladies at home. You Eip?” 

" ‘ Ladies at home ? ’ no sir. Leastways, none of ’em is 
at home ’cept ’tis Miss Berry, sir; she’s in the parlor, sir; 
but the other ladies is all gone to de willage, a shoppin’. 
I’se werry sorrj", sir, ’deed, I is ; and so will de ladies be, 
sir.” 

Of course Vane must have been very sorry, too, though 
he didn’t look like it. 

"But come in, sir; Miss Berry’s in the parlor, sir; and 
she’ll be right glad to see ^mu, I know, and she’ll do the 
best she can to ’muse you till de oder ladies come back, 
which, ’deed, I ’fraid dey won’t do till dinner time, ’deed is 

Of course Vane was very much afraid, also. But he fol- 
lowed You Pip, who led the waj’, to the parlor door, opened 
it suddenly, announced the visitor, and then backed out. 

With an irrepressible cry of joy, Berenice started up to 
meet her lover. 


348 


THE F A IVl I 1, T DOOM. 


‘‘ I thought you were gone. Oh, I am so glad, so glad to 
Bee you once more before you go ! ” she exclaimed, as she 
gave him both her hands. 

He drew her to his heart, and kissed her in silence. 
Then, when they were seated side by side on the sofa,, he 
told her that he should not leave the neighborhood just yet, 
and he explained the reason why. 

So your old friend, the bishop, is here, and he will tell 
you what he has to say, and I shall know it without having 
to part with you or to wait for a letter.” 

Yes, iny beloved Berenice.” 

“But — but — oh. Vane ! in the sudden joy of seeing you, 
when I so little thought to do so, I had almost lost sight of 
it, though it is seldom for a single instant out of my mind 
— the story — the horrible story. Vane. You have heard it 
all?” whispered Berenice, under her breath. 

“Yes, dearest, I have heard it all, and do not care a 
penny for it. It is nothing to me or to you, Berenice. 
We have no more to do with that dark past than with the 
massacre of St. Bartholomew, or the martyrdoms of Smith- 
field. I shall joyfully marry you and take my chance, if 
you make me so supremely blest as to be my wife.” 

“ Oh, Vane, I never, never can. If it was myself who 
was doomed to die within the year, if I should dare to 
marry, I could find courage to defy the doom, or to bear it, 
to make you happy for a year, l^ut I cannot sacrifice or 
endanger your life, Vane, I cannot, indeed.” 

“ Are you so much the slave of superstition ? ” sadly in- 
quired the fover. 

“ I don’t know. But, oh, see ! Ever since that Indian 
widow laid her curse upon us, each daughter of the house 
of Henniker has been widowed in the first year of her 
marriage ; widowed, too, with one exception, by the violent 
death of her husband. You can not get over these facts — 
no one can.” 


BISHOP W A T< D E M A R . 


349 


“ Coincidence, my dear Berenice, mere coincidence.” 

Ob, I am so weary of that word, for you all repeat it 
to me so often. Weil, grant that it is mere coincidence ; 
that the Indian widow had no power to curse us. I should 
still so much fear the coincidence being continued in your 
case, that if I should marry j^ou. Vane, I should go mad 
with dread in the first months of our marriage.” 

My dear Berenice, listen to reason. You say that each 
woman of your race has been widowed within a year after 
her wedding, and, with one exception, by the violent death 
of her husband. Yery disastrous, my darling, but not at 
all wonderful, when you come to consider the circumstances. 
All these husbands, with the one exception of your father, 
W’ero soldiers or sailors, and lived in disturbed or warlike 
time's. What so probable as that they should have died 
prematurely and violently. Your father, who lived in more 
peaceable days, died quietly in his bed.” 

Yes, but within a 3^ear after his marriage with my 
mother. You cannot get over that. He too seemed to 
perish by the curse.” 

Vane bowed his head, and remained silent for a few 
moments in reverence of the dead, and then said, gravely : 

“ Well, well — granting, for argument sake, that there 
was a curse laid upon the ladies of Henniker which has 
been fulfilled in every generation — still, the curse cannot 
last forever — it must die out at last. It may die out in 
you. Come — I am. willing, I am extremely anxious to take 
my chance.” 

‘‘Yes, the malediction may die out at last — but when? 
When a series of impossibilities shall take place. Oh, 
Vane, the words of the prophet have been ringing in my 
ears ever since I heard them ! I even rehearse them in my 
dreams — 

•When the dawn shall be midnight, 

And the eve shall be morn — 

When the child shall be chiistencd 
Befuro it its born — 


uo 


THE FAMILY DOOM. 


•When theraaid shall be widowed 
Before she is wed — 

The sin shall be pardoned, 

The curse shall be dead.’ 

Unless all these miracles should be performed, I will 
never, never marry. I will never — as I hope to be saved, 
Vane. If I speak strongly, dearest, it is because I wish you 
to receive my words, and believe them, and act upon them, 
for tliey are as true as truth and as solemn as death,” 
said Berenice, very earnestly. 

Vane did believe her words ; but there was nothing far- 
ther from his intention than to act upon them. 

However, he argued the point no farther at that time. 
He changed the subject and, to amuse Berenice, told her of 
his conversation with Pike Turner, of his own success at 
match-making, and of the very laudable action of the hon- 
est hunter in transferring his slighted affections from the 
repulsive and unappreciating Miss Skinner to the lovely 
and responsive Flavia. Vane considered this no breach of 
confidence, as the knowledge of these things could not be 
considered in the light of a sacred trust. So he won the 
pensive girl to smiles, and so he entertained her until the 
return of the ladies, who were very much surprised to see 
one whom they had supposed to be far away, but pleased at 
the prospect of his remaining in the neighborhood for the 
present. You see, all these ladies experienced a growing 
attachment to the amiable young gentleman. 

Vane dined at Henniker and, shortly after dinner, took 
leave of the family, and started to visit Bishop Waldemar. 

Whether the conditions of the oracle ever were fulfilled, 
the malediction lifted from the family, or the lovers united 
in marriage, shall be told in the sequel to this story, to be 
published immediately, under the title of “ The Maiden 
Widow.” 


THE end. 


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The Household of Bouverie,....$l SOjMiriam’s Memoirs, $1 50 

The Cardinal’s Daughter, 1 50 JVIonfort Hall, 1 50 

Feme Fleming,,, 1 50 1 Sea and Shore, 1 50 

A Double Wedding, 1 60 'Hester Howard’s Temptation,,.. 1 50 

Lady Ernestine; or. The Absent Lord of Rocheforte, 1 50 

Above are each bound in morocco cloth, price $1,50 each. 

FREDRIKA BREMER’S DOMESTIC NOVELS. 

Complete in six large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gilt back, price %l.b0 each; 
or $9,00 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

Father and Daughter, $l 50 | The Neighbors, $1 50 

The Pour Sisters, 1 50 | The Home,.., 1 50 

Above are each bound in morocco cloth, price $1.50 each. 

Life in the Old World. In two volumes, cloth, price, 3 00 


a. K. PHILANDER DOESTICKS’ FUNNY BOOKS. 


Onnplete in four large duodecimo volumes, hound in cloth, gilt back, x>t'ice $1.5(1 
each ; or $6.00 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

Doesticks’ Letters, $l 50 | The Elephant Club,..! $1 50 

Plu-Ri-Biis-Tah, 1 50 1 \V itches of New York, 1 50 

Above are each bound in morocco cloth, price $1.50 each. 


JAMES A. MAITLAND’S HOUSEHOLD STORIES. 

Complete in seven large duodecimo volumes, hound in doth, gilt back, price $1.50 
each ; or $10.50 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 


The Watchman, $l 50 

The Wanderer, 1 50 

The Lawyer’s Story, 1 50 


Diary of an Old Doctor, $1 50 

Sartaroe, 1 50 

The Three Cousins, 1 50 


The Old Patroon ; or the Great Van Broek Property, 1 50 

Above are each hound in morocco cloth, price $1.50 each. 


T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE’S ITALIAN NOVELS. 


Complete in seven large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gilt back, price $1.50 
each; or $10.50 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

The Sealed Packet, $1 50 i Dream Numbers, $1 50 

Garstang Grange, 1 50 I Beppo, the Conscript, 1 50 

Leonora Casaloni,... I 50 j Gemma, 1 50 | Marietta, 1 50 

Above are each bound in morocco cloth, price $1.50 each. 

FRANK FORESTER’S SPORTING SCENES. 


Frank Forester’s Sporting Scenes and Characters. By Henry William 
Herbert. A New, Revised, and Enlarged Edition, with a Life of the 
Author, a New Introductory Chapter, Frank Forester’s Portrait and 
Autograph, with a full length picture of him in his shooting costume, 
and seventeen other illustrations, from original designs by D.arley and 
Frank Forester. Two vols., morocco cloth, bevelled boards, $4.00. 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


4 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


feMILE ZOLA’S NEW REALISTIC BOOKS. 

La Terre. (The Soil.) By Emile Zoln, »,\xXhov of ‘‘Nana,’' “ L’Assom- 
inoir,” etc. Paper cover, 75 cents; cloth, $1.25. 

Nana! Sequel to L’Assomtnoir. By Emile ZoUt. Nana! Price 75 cents 
in paper cover, or $1.00 in inorocqo cloth, black and gold. Nana ! 

L'Assommoir ; or, Nana’s Mother. By Emile ZoUi. The Greatest Novel 
ever printed. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or Si. 00 in cloth. 

Christine, The Model ; or. Studies of Love and Artist Life in the Studio.s 
of Paris. By Emile Zoh. Paper, 75 cents; cloth, $1.25. 

The Shop Girls of Paris. With their daily Life in Large Dry Goods Stores. 
By Emile Zola, author of “ Nana.” Paper, 75 cents; cloth, $1.25. 

Renee; or, In the Whirlpool! By Emile Zola. Zola’s New Play of 
“ Renee ” was dramatized from this work. Paper, 75 cents ; cloth, $1 .25. 

Nana’s Brother. Son of “ Gervaise,” of “ L’Assomtnoir.” By Emile Zula, 
author of “ Nana.” Paper, 75 cents; cloth, $1.25. 

The Flower Girls of Marseilles. By Emile author of “Nana,” 

“ L’ Assommoir,” etc. Paper, 75 cents ; cloth, $1.25. 

The Joys of Life. By Emile Zola^ author of “ Nana,” “ Pot-Bouille,” etc. 
Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in morocco cloth, black and gold. 

Pot-Bouille. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana.” “Pot-Bouille.” Price 
75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in morocco cloth, black and gold. 

The Flower and Market Girls of Paris. By Emile Zola. Price 75 cents 
in paper cover, or $1.25 in morocco cloth, black and gold. 

Nana’s Daughter. A Continuation of and Sequel to Emile Zola’s Great 
Realistic Novel of “ Nana.” Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.00 in cloth. 

The Mysteries of the Court of Louis Napoleon. By Emile Zola. Price 
75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth, black and gold. 

The Girl in Scarlet; or, the Loves of Silvere and Miette. By Emile Zola. 
Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in -cloth. 

Albine; or. The Abbe’s Temptation. A Charming and Pathetic Love 
Story. By Emile Zola. Paper, 75 cents; cloth, $1.25. 

Helene, a Love Episode. A Tale of Love and Passion. By Emile Zola. 
Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth, black and gold. 

A Mad Love; or The Abbe and Ilis Court. By Emile Zola. Price 75 
cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth, black and gold. 

Her Two Husbands. By Emile Zola. Paper, 75 cents; cloth, $1.25. 

Claude’s Confession. By Emile Zola. Paper, 75 cents; clotlr, $1.25. 

Magdalen Ferat. By Emile Zola. Paper, 75 cents; cloth, $1.25. 

Therese Raquin. By Emile Zola. Paper, 76 cents; cloth, $1.00. 

MRS. SOIJTHWORTH’S WORKS IN CHEAP FORM. 

Ishmaol; or, in the Depths — being “Self-Made; or. Out of the Depths.” 

Self-Raised; or. From the Depths. Sequel to “Ishmael.” 

The Bride of an Evening; or. The Gipsy’s Prophecy. 

The Missing Bride; or, Miriam, the Avenger. The Bridal Eve. 

The Curse of Clifton; or, The Widowed Bride. The Bride’s Fate. 

The Changed Brides; or. Winning Her Way. The Fatal Marriage, 
Above are cheap editions, in paper c«ver, price 75 cents each. i 

The Red Hill Tragedy. Sybil Brotherton. 

Above are cheap editions, in paper cover, 60 cents each. 


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T. B. PETERSOK & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS « 


PETERSONS’ SaUARE 12mo. SERIES. 

Society Rapids. High Life in Washington, Saratoga and Bar Harbor. 
Snatched from the Poor-IIouse. A Young Girl’s Life History. 

The Major’s Love; or, The Sequel of a Crime. By Ella Brown Price. 
Who Cares? A Woman’s Story. Fervent, Passionate and Repentant. 

Above are in paper cover, price 50 cents each, or 75 cents each in cloth. 
Helen’s Babies. By John Habberton. With an Illustrated Cover. 

M rs. Mayburn’s Twins. By John Habberton, author of Helen’s Babies- 
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The Annals of a Baby. Baby’s First Gifts, etc. By Mrs. Stebbins. 
Bessie’s Six Lovers. A Charming Love Story. By Henry Peterson. 
Father Tom and the Pope; or, A Night at the Vatican. Illustrated. 
Rondah; or, Thirty-three Years in a Star. By Florence C. Dieudonii6. 
Not His Daughter. A Society Novel. By Will Herbert. 

A Bohemian Tragedy. A Nov*l of New York Life. By Lily Curry. 
Little Heartsease. Equal to Rhoda Broughton’s. By Annie L. Wright. 
Two Kisses. A Bright and Snappy Love Story. By Hawley Smart. 

Her Second Love. A Thrilling, Life- like and Captivating Love Story. 

A Pa risian Romance. Octave Feuillet’s Neio Book, just dramatized. 
Fanchon, the Cricket ; or, La Petite Fadette. By George Sand. 

Two Ways to Matrimony ; or. Is it Love? or. False Pride. 

The Matchmaker. By Beatrice Reynolds. A Charming Love Story. 

The Story of Elizabeth. By Miss Thackeray, daughter of W. M. Thackeray. 
The Amours of Philippe ; or, Philippe’s Love Affairs, by Octave Feuillct. 
Raney Cottem’s Courtship. By author of “ Major Jones’s Courtship.” 

A Woman’s Mistake; or, Jacques de Tr6vannes. A Perfect Love Story. 
'J’he Days of Madame Pompadour. A Romance of the Reign of Louis XV. 
The Little Countess. By Octave Feuillet, author of “ Count De Camors.” 
Tlie American L’Assommoir. A parody on Zola’s ‘‘ L’Assommoir.” 

Hyde Park Sketches. A very humorous and entertaining work. 

Miss Margery’s Roses. A Charming Love Story. By Robert C. Meyers. 
Madeleine. A Charming Love Story. Jules Sandeau’s Prize Novel. 
Carmen. By Prosper Merimee. Book the Opera was dramatized from. 
That Girl of Mine. By the author of “ That Lover of Mine.” 

That Lover of Mine. By the author of ‘‘That Girl of Mine.” 

Above are in paper cover, price 50 cents each, or in cloth, at $1.00 each. 

PETERSONS’ SaUARE 12mo. SERIES. 

Edmond Dantes. Sequel to Alexander Dumas’ “ Count of Monte-Cristo.” 
Monte-Cristo’s Daughter. Sequel to and end of “ Edmond Dantes.” 

The Wife of Monte-Cristo. Continuation of “ Count of Monte-Cristo.” 
The Son of Monte-Cristo. The Sequel to “ The Wife of Monte-Cristo.” 
Camille; or. The Fate of a Coquette. (La Dame Aux Camelias.) 
Married Above Her. A Society Romance. By a Lady of New York. 
The Man from Texas. A Powerful Western Romance, full of adventure. 
Erring, Yet Noble. A Book of Women and for Women. By I. G. Reed. 
The Fair Enchantress ; or. How She Won Men’s Hearts. By Miss Keller. 

Above are in paper cover, price 75 cents each, or $1.25 each m cloth. 
Kenneth Cameron. A Novel of Southern Society and Plantation Life. 
By Judge L. Q. C. Brown, of Louisiana. Paper cover, 75 cts.; cloth, $1.25. 


All Books published by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa., 
will be sent to any one, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Pvi^, 


6 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


PETERSONS’ SaUARE 12mo. SERIES. 

Major Jones’s Courtship. 21 Illustrations Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.0{ 
Major Jones’s Georgia Scenes. 12 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.01 
Major Jones’s Travels. 8 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.0{ 
Simon Suggs’ Adventures. 10 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cts., cloth, Sl.Ot 
Louisiana Swamp Doctor. 6 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $!.()( 
The Initials. ‘A. Z.’ By Baroness Tautphoeus. Paper, 75 cts., cloth, $1. 2: 
Indiana! A Love Story. By George Sand. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $L0t 
Consuelo. By George Sand. Paper cover, Price 75 cents; cloth, $1. CO 
Countess of Rudolstadt. Sequel to Consuelo. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, Sl.Ot 
Harry Coverdale’s Courtship and Marriage. Paper, 75 cts., cloth, $1.5( 
Those Pretty St. George Girls. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, gilt, SI. 00 
Vidocq ! The French Detective. Illustrated. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1 .00 
The Black Venus. By Adolythe Belot. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, $1 .00 
La Grande Florine. By Adolphe Belot. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, SI. 00 
'The Stranglers of Paris. By Adolphe Belot. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00 
Mark M.aynard’s Wife. By Frankie F. King. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1 .25 
The Master of L’Etrange. By Eugene Hall. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $I .25 
Dora’s Device. By George R. Gather. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25 
Snob Papers. A Book Full of Roaring Fun. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1 .25 
Karan Kringle’s Courtship and Journal. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.50 
The Prairie Flower, and Leni-Leoti. Paper cover, 75 cents, clotk, $1.00 
Monsieur, Madame, and the Baby. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00 
L’Evang^liste. By Alphonse Daudet. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25 
The Duchesse Undine. By H. Penn Diltz. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1 .26 
The Hidden Record. By E. W. Blaisdell. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25 
A Russian Princess. By Emmanuel Gonzales. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00 
A Wotnan’s Perils; or. Driven from Home. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25 
A Fascinating Woman. By Edmond Adam. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25 
La Faustin. By Edmond de Goncourt. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25 
Monsieur Le Ministre. By Jules Claretie. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25 
Winning the Battle ; or, One Girl in 10,000. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25 
A Child of Israel. By Edouard Cadol. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00 
The Exiles. The Russian ‘ Robinson Crusoe.' Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00 
My Hero. A Love Story. By Mrs. Forrester. Paper, 75 cts., cloth, $1.00 
Paul Hart; or. The Love of His Life. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25 
Mildred’s Cadet; or, Hearts and Bell- Buttons. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00 
Bollah. A Love Story. By Octave Feuillet. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00 
Sabine’s Falsehood.. A Love Story. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00 
Linda ; or. The Young Pilot of the Belle Creole. Paper, 75 cts., cloth, $1.26 
’I’ho Woman in Black. Illustrated Cover. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00 
Madame Bovary. By Gustave Flaubert. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00 
The Count de Camors. By Octave Feuillet. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25 
How She Won Him! A Love Story. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25 
Angele’s Fortune. By Andr6 Theuriet. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25 
St. Maur; or. An Earl’s Wooing. Paper cover, price 75 cents, cloth, $1.25 
The Prince of Breffny. By Thomas P. May. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.50 
The Earl of Mayfield. By Thomas P. May. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00 
Francatelli’s Modern Cook Book for 1888. Enlarged Edition. With the 
most approved methods of French, English, German, and Italian Cook- 
ery. With 62 Illustrations. 600 pages, morocco cloth, price $5.00. 

All Books published by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa., 
will be sent to any one, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Prinn. 


T. B. PETEESOIT & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 7 


MRS. F. H. BURNETT’S NOVELLETTES. 

Kathleen. A Love Story. By author of “That Lass o’ Lowries ” 

Thco. A Love Story. By author of “ Kathleen,” “Miss Crespigny.’* 
Lindsay’s Luck. A Love Story. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett. 
Pretty Polly Pemberton. By author of “ Kathleen,” “ Thco,” etc. 

A Quiet Life. By Mrs. Burnett, author of “ That Lass o’ Lowries.” 

Miss Crespigny, aho Jarl’s Daughter. By Mrs. Burnett, 

Above are in paper cover, price bO cents each, or in cloth, at $1.00 each, 

HENRY GREVILLE’S CHARMING NOVELS. 

Zitka; or. The Trials of Rai’ssa. A Russian Love Story, from which the 
Poj)ular Play of “ Zitka ” was dramatized. By Henry Greville. 

The Princess Ogh^rof. A Love Story. By Henry Greville. 

Above are in 2 )aper cover, price 75 cents each, or in cloth, at $1.00 e<tch. 
The Princess Roubine. A Russian Love Story. By Henry Greville. 
Dosia. A Russian Story. By Henry Griville, author of “Markof.” 
Saveli’s Expiation. A Powerful Russian Story. By Henry Greville. 
Tania’s Peril. A Russian Love Story. By Henry Greville. 

Sonia. A Love Story. By Henry Greville, author of “Dosia.” 

Lucie Rodey. A Charming Society Novel. By Henry Greville. 
Bonne-Marie. A Tale of Normandy and Paris. By Henry Greville. 
Xenie’s Inheritance. A Tale of Russian Life. By Henry Greville. 
Dournof. A Russian Story. By Henry Greville, author of “Dosia.” 
Mam’zelle Eugenie. A Russian Love Story. By Henry Greville, 
Cabriclle; or. The House of Maurezo. By Henry Greville. 

A Friend; or, “L’Ami.” By Henry Greville, author of “ Dosia.” 

Above are in pajier cover, price 60 cents each, or in cloth, at $1.00 each. 
Marrying Olf a Daughter. A Love Story. By Henry Greville. 

Sylvie’s Betrothed. A Charminy Novel. By Henry Greville. 

Philomene’s Marriages. A Love Story. By Henry Greville. 

Guy’s Marriage; also Pretty Little Countess Zina. By Henry Greville, 
Above are in paper cover, price 75 cents each, or in cloth, at $1.25 each. 
Markof, the Russian Violinist. Paper cover, 75 cents; cloth, $1.50. 

THE “COUNT OF MONTE-CRISTO SERIES.” 

The Count of Monte-Cristo. Illustrated. Paper cover, $1.00, cloth, $1.50, 
Edmond Dantes. Sequel to “Monte-Cristo.” Paper, 75 cts., cloth, $1 2.5. 
Monte-Cristo’s Daughter. Paper cover, 75 cents; cloth, $1.25. 
The Countess of Monte-Cristo. Paper cover, $1.00, morocco cloth, .$1.50. 
The Wife of Monte-Cristo. Paper cover, 75 cents, morocco cloth, .$1.25. 
The Son of Monte-Cristo. Paper cover, 75 cents, morocco cloth, $1.25. 

BOOKS BY AUTHOR OF “A HEART TWICE WON." 

A Heart Twice Won; or. Second Love. A Love Story. By Mrs. Eliza^ 
heth Van Loon. ^Morocco cloth, bl.aek and gold. P’rice $1 50. 

Under the Willows; or. The Three Countesses. By Mrs. Elizabeth Van 
Loon, author of “A Heart Twice Won.” Cloth, and gold. Price $1.50, 
The Shadow of Hampton Mead. A Charminy Story. By Mrs. Elizabeth 
Van Loon, author of “A Heart Twice Won.” Cloth. Price $1.50. 

Tiio Mystery of Allanwold. A Thrilling Novel. By Mrs. Elizab'-th Van 
Loon, author of “A Heart Twice Won.” Cloth, and gold. Price $1.50. 

All Books published by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa., 
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8 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


WILKIE COLLINS’ BEST BOOKS. 

Basil; or, The Crossed Path.. $ I 50 | The Dead Secret. ]2mo $1 68 

Above are each in one large duodecimo volume, bound in cloth. 

The Dead Secret, 8vo 75 The Queen’s Eevenge, 75 

Basil ; or, the Crossed Path, 75 Miss or Mrs? 50 

Hide and Seek, 75 Mad Monkton, 50 

After Dark, 75 Sights a-Foot, 60 

The Stolen Mask, 25 ] The Yellow Mask,... 25 [ Sister Rose,... 26 

The above books are each issued in paper cover, in octavo form. 

EMERSON BENNETT’S INDIAN STORIES. 

Omplete in seven large duodecimo volumes, hmmd in cloth, gilt back, price $1.60 
each ; or $10.50 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 


The Border Rover, $1 50 

Clara Moreland, 1 50 

The Orphan’s Trials, I 50 


Bride of the Wilderness, $1 50 

Ellen Norbury, I 50 

Kate Clarendon, 1 50 


Viola; or Adventures in the Far South-West, 1 50 

Above are each bound in morocco cloth, price $1.50 each. 

The Heiress of Bellefontc, 75 | The Pioneer’s Daughter, 75 

GREEN’S WORKS ON GAMBLING. 

Complete in four large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gilt buck, price $1.50 
each; or $0.00 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

(Jambling Exposed, $1 50 i The Reformed Gambler, $1 50 

The Gambler’s Life, 1 50 | Secret Band of Brothers, 1 50 

Above are each bound in morocco cloth, price $1.50 each. 

DOW’S PATENT SERMONS. 

Complete in four large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gilt back, price $1.25 
each ; or $5.00 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

Dow’s Patent Sermons, 3d 

Serie.«, cloth, $1 25 

Dow’s Patent Sermons, 4th 
Series, cloth 1 25 


Dow’s Patent Sermon.®, 1st 

Series, cloth, $l 25 

Dow’s Patent Sermons, 2d 
Series, cloth 1 25 


Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.00 each. 

GEORGE SAND’S GREATEST NOVELS. 

Consuelo, 12mo., cloth, $1 50| Jealousy, 12mo., cloth, $1 50 

Countess of Rudolstadt, 1 6o| Indiana, 12mo., cloth, 1 50 

Above are each published in 12mo., cloth, gilt side and back. 
Fanchon, the Cricket, paper cover, 50 cents, or fine edition, in cloth, 1 50 
First and True Love. With 1 1 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents ; cloth, 1 00 

Consuelo. Paper cover, 75 I The Corsair, 50 

Simon. A Love Story, 50 I The Last Aldini, 50 

The Countess of Rudolstadt. The Sequel to Consuelo. Paper cover, 75 

MISS BRADDON’S FASCINATING BOOKS. 


Aurora Floyd, 75 

Aurora Floyd, cloth 1 00 


The Lawyer’s Secret, 26 

For Better, For Worse, 75 


Above Books -will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Priee, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 9 


CHARLES DICKENS’ WORKS. ILLUSTRATED. 

This edition is printed from large type, octavo size, each book being complete 
in one large octavo volume, bound in Morocco Cloth, with Gilt Character 
Figures on back, and Medallion on side, price $1.50 each, or $27.00 a set, 
contained in eighteen volumes, the tchole containing near Six Hundred 
Illustrations, by Cruikshank, Phiz, Broivne, Maclise, and other artists. 
The Pickwick Papers. By Charles Dickens. With 32 Illustrations, .$1.50 
Nicholas Nickleby. By Charles Dickens. With 37 Illustrations,.... 1 50 

David Copperfield. By Charles Dickens. With 8 Illustrations, 1 5(t 

Oliver Twist. By Charles Dickens. With 24 Illustrations, 1 50 

Bleak House. By Charles Dickens. With 38 Illustrations, 1 50 

Doinbey and Son. By Charles Dickens. With 38 Illustrations, 1 50 

Sketches by “ Boz.” By Charles Dickens. With 20 Illustrations,... 1 50 

Little Dorrit. By Charles Dickens. With 38 Illustrations, 1 50 

Our Mutual Friend. By Charles Dickens. With 42 Illustrations.... 1 50 
Great Expectations. By Charles Dickens. With 34 Illustrations,... 1 50 
Lamplighter’s Story. By Charles Dickens. With 7 Illustrations,... 1 50 

Burnaby Budge. By Charles Dickens. With 50 Illustrations, 1 50 

Martin Chuzzlewit. By Charles Dickens. With 8 Illustrations, 1 50 

Old Curiosity Shop. By Charles Dickens. With 101 Illustrations,. 1 50 

Christmas Stories. By Charles Dickens. With 12 Illustrations, 1 50 

Dickens’ New Stories. By Charles Dickens. With portrait of author, 1 50 
A Tale of Two Cities. By Charles Dickens. With 64 Illustrations,. 1 50 
Charles Dickens’ American Notes and Pic-Nic Papers, 1 50 

BOOXS BY THE VERY BEST AUTHORS. 

The following books are each issued in one large duodecimo volume. 


bound in morocco cloth, price $1.50 each. 

The Initials. A Love Story. By Baroness Tautphoeus, $1 50 

Married Beneath Him. By author of “ Lost Sir Massingberd,” 1 50 - 

Margaret Maitland. By Mrs. Oliphant, author of “Zaidee/’ 1 50 

Family Pride. By author of “ Pique,” “ Family Secrets,” etc 1 50 

The Autobiography of Edward Wortley Montagu, 1 50 

The Forsaken Daughter. A Companion to “Linda,” 1 50 

Lov'e and Liberty. A Revolutionary Story. By Alexander Dumas, 1 50 

The Morrisons. By Mrs. Margaret Hosmer, 1 60 

The Rich Husband. By author of “ George Geith,” 1 50 

The Lost Beauty. By a Noted Lady of the Spanish Court, 1 50 

My Hero. By Mrs. Forrester. A Charming Love Story, 150 


Tlie Quaker Soldier. A Revolutionary Romance. By Judge Jones,.... 1 50 
Memoirs of Vidocq, the French Detective. His Life and Adventures, 1 50 
The Belle of Washington. With her Portrait. By Mrs. N. P. Lasselle, 1 50 
High Life in Washington. A Life Picture. By Mrs. N. P. Lasselle, 1 50 
Courtship and Matrimony. By Robert Morris. With a Portrait,... 1 50 

'J'he Jealous Husband. By Annette Marie Maillard, 1 50 

The Conscript; or, the Days of Napoleon 1st. By Alex. Dumas,.... 1 b'i 
Cousin Harry. By Mrs. Grey, author of “ The Gambler’s Wife,” etc. 1 50 
Above books are each bound in morocco cloth, price $1.50 each. 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Pricej 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


10 T. B. PETEESOH & BROTHEES’ PUBLICATIONS. 


WORKS BY THE VERY BEST AUTHORS. 

The following hooks are each issued in one large duodeeinio volume, 
bound in morocco cloth, j)rice $1.50 each. 

The Count of Monte-Cristo. By Duiuas. Illustrated, 50 cts., $1.00,.. $1 60 


The Countess of Monte-Cristo. Paper cover, price $1.00 j or cloth,.. 1 50 

Cutiiillej or, the Fate of a Coquette. By Alexander Dutnas, 1 50 

Love and Money. By J. B. Jones, author of the “ Rival Belles,”... 1 50 
The Brother’s Secret; or, the Count De Mara. By William Godwin. 1 50 
'J'he Lost Love. By Mrs. Oliphant, author of “ Margaret Maitland,” 1 50 

The Bohemians of London. By Edward M. Whitty, 1 50 

Wild Sports and Adventures in Africa. By Major W. C. Harris, 1 50 

The Life, Writings, and Lectures of the late “ Fanny Fern,” 1 50 

The Life and Lectures of Lola Montez, with her portrait, 1 50 

Wild Southern Scones. By author of “ Wild Western Scenes,” 1 50 

Currer Lyle ; or, the Autobiography of an Actress. By Louise Reeder. 1 50 

The Cabin and Parlor. By J. Thornton Randolph. Illustrated, 1 50 

The Little Beauty. A Love Story. By Mrs. Grey, 1 50 

Lizzie Glenn ; or, the Trials of a Seamstress. By T. S. Arthur, 1 50 

Lady M.aud ; or, the Wonder of Kingswood Chase. By Pierce Egan, 1 50 

Wilfred Mon tressor ; or. High Life in New York. Illustrated, 1 50 

Lorrimer Littlegood, by author “ Harry Coverdale’s Courtship,” 1 50 

Married at Last. A Love Story. By Annie Thomas, 1 50 

Shoulder Straps. By Henry Morford, author of “ Days of Shoddy,” 1 td) 
Days of Shoddy. By Henry Morford, author of “ Shoulder Straps,” 1 50 

The Coward. By Henry Morford, author of Shoulder Straps,” 1 50 

Above books are each bound in morocco cloth, price $r.50 each. 

The Roman Traitor. By Henry William Herbert. A Roman Story, 1 75 

The Last Athenian. By Victor Rydberg. From the Swedish, 1 75 


MRS. HENRY WOOD’S BEST BOOKS, IN CLOTH. 

The following are cloth editions of Mrs. JTenry Wood’s best books, and they 
are each issued in large octavo volumes, bound in cloth, itrice $1.75 each. 
Within the Maze. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of East Lynne,” $1 75 

The Master of Grey lands. By Mrs. Henry Wood, 1 75 

Dene Hollow. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of“ Within the Maze,” 1 75 
Bessy Rane. By Mrs. Henry M''ood, author (»f The Channings,”.... 1 75 
George Canterbury's Will. By Mrs. AVood, author “Oswald Cray,” 1 75 
The Channings. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “ Dene Hollow,”... 1 75 

Roland Yorkc. A Sequel to “ The Channings.” By Mrs. Wood, 1 75 

Shadow of Ashlydyatt. By Mrs. Wflod, author of “ Bessy Ratie,”.... 1 75 
Lord Oakburn’s Daughters; or The Earl’s Heirs. By Mrs. Wood,... 1 75 
Verner’s Pride. By Mrs. Henry AVood, author of “ The Channings,” 1 75 
'j’he Castle’s Heir; or Lady Adelaide’s Oath. By Mrs. Henry Wood, 1 75 
Oswald Cray. By Mrs. llenry Wood, author ol ‘‘ R(dand Yorke,”.,.. 1 75 

Squire Trevlyn’s Heir; or Trevlyn Hold. By Mrs. Henry AVood, ! 75 

The Red Court Farm. By Airs. AVood, author of “ A'erner's Pride,” 1 75 
Elster’s F 0 II 3 '. By jAIrs. Henry AAOjod, author of “ Castle’s Heir.”... 1 75 
St. Martin's Eve. By Mrs. Henry AA'^ood, author of “Dene Hollow,”! 75 
Mildred Arkell. By Airs. Henry AVood, iiuthor of “ E:tst Lynne,” 1 75 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 11 



ALEXANDER DUMAS’ ROMANCES, IN CLOTH. 

ThtJMomug u,-e doth aUthm of Alexander Dmm,' worU, and the, art 
^ each ismed in large octavo volumes, bound in cloth, price $1.60 each. 
ihe Three Guardsmen ; or, The Three Mousquetaires. By A. Dumas, $1 60 
Iwenty Years Alter; or the Second Series of Three Guardsmen/’... J 50 
^ragelonne; Son ot Atho.s ; or “ Third Series of Three Guardsmen,” 1 50 
The Iron ; or the “ Fourth Series of The Three Guardsmen,”.... 1 60 

Sequel to ^^The Iron Mask.” Being the 

.ru Book and End oj the Three Guardsmen Series,” 1 50 

The Memoirs ot a Physician; or, Joseph Balsamo. Illustrated, 1 60 
^uemis Necklace; or ‘‘ Second Series of Memoirs of a Phnsician,” ] 60 
Six Years Later; or the Third Series of Memoirs of a Physician,” 1 60 
Countess of Charny ; or Fourth Series of Memoirs of a Physician,” 1 59 
Andree De laverney ; or “ Fifth Series of Memoirs of a Phi/sician,” 1 60 
Sequel to Andree De Taverney.” Being the 

6ixth Book and End oJ the Memoirs of a Physician Series,” 1 50 

/ri a Marquis. By Alexander Dumas, 1 60 

The ^^rty-Five Guardsmen. By Alexander Dumas. Illustrated,... 1 50 
Diana of Meridor, or Lady of Monsoreau. By Alexander Dumas,... 1 60 
Ihc iron Hand. By Alex. Dumas, author “Count of Monfe-Cristo,’* 1 50 

or the Fate of a Coquette. (La Dame aux Camelias,) 1 50 

Iho Conscript. A novel of the Days of Napoleon the First, ] 50 

Love and Liberty. A novel of the French Revolution of 1702-170^^ J .60 


THE “COUNT OF MONTE-CRISTO SERIES,” IN CLOTH, 

Thh Count of Monte-Cristo. By Alexander Dumas. Illustrated,... t 60 

Edmond Dantes. The Sequel to the “ Count of Monte-Cristo,” 1 25 

Monte-Cri.sto’s Daughter. Sequel to and end of “ Edmond Dantes ” 1 2.5 
The Countc.ss of Monte-Cri.sto. The Companion to “ Monte-Cri.'sto,” 1 60 
The Wife of Monte-Cristo. Continuation of “Count of Monte-Cristo,” I 2ct 
The Son of Monte-Cristo. The Sequel to “Wife of Monte-Cristo,” t 25 


T. S. ARTHUR’S GREAT TEMPERANCE BOOKS. 

Six Nights with the Washingtonians, Illustrated. T. S. Arthur’s 
Great Temperance Stories. Large Subscription Edition, cloth, gilt, 

$3.50; Red Roan, $1.50*, Full Turkey Antique, Full Gilt 6 00 

The Latimer Family ; or the Bottle and Pledge. By T. S. Arthur, cloth, 1 09 


MODEL SPEA.KEIIS AND READERS. 

/ Comstock’s Elocution and Model Speaker. In.tended for the use of 
Schools, Colleges, and for private Study, for the Promotion of 
Health, Cure of Stammering, and Defective Articulation. By 
Andrew Comstock and Philip Lawrence. AVith 236 Illustrations.. i Oft 
The Lawrence Speaker. A Selection of Literary Gems in Poetry and 
, Prose, designed for the use of Colleges, Schools, Seminaries, Literary 
/ Societies. I»y Philip Lawrence, Professor of Elocution. 600 pages.. 2 C6 
Com.stoek’s Colored Chart. Being a perfect Alphabet of the English 
Language, with exorcises in Pitch, Force and Gesture, jind Sixty- 
Eight colored figures, representing the postures and attitmles to be 
u.^ed in declamation. On a large Roller. Every School should have it. 5 Oft 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Fr^c^ 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


25 Gent Editions of 

ZOLA'S NANA I L’ASSOMMOIR ! 
LA TERRE ! NANA’S DAUGHTER ! 


LIST OF SMILE ZOLA’S GREAT BOOKS. 


Petersons’ Translations in English for American Readers. 

Xmm! The Sequel to “ L’Assommoir.” XaiiH! By Eviile Zola. With a Picture of 
*'Nana ” on the cover. Paper cover, 75 cents ; Cloth, ^i.oo. Cheap edition, paper co7Jer, 25 cents. 

IjH Terre. {The Soil.) By Emile Zola, awthor o(“ Nana.” This last book by Zola is creating 
a great sensation. Paper cover, 75 cents; Cloth, 25. Cheap edition, paper cover , 2y ceitts. 

I/AMSOiniiioir ; or, Xatia’s Mother. By Emile Zola. With a Picture of Nana’ s 
mother on the cover. Paper Cover, 75 cents ; Cloth, ^i.oo. Cheap editio7i, paper cover, 25 cents. 

Nana's DailS’hter. A Continuation of and Sequel to Emile Zola’s Great Realistic Novel of 
*'Nana.” Paper cover, 75 cents ; Cloth, Cheap edition, paper cover , 2y cents. 

'ITie Flower aiert Market Oirl.s of Faris. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana” 
and “ L’ Asson/moir.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

'File Flower Oirls of Mar.seille.«i. By Emile Zola, author of “ Natia.” “ L' Assomntoir,” 
“ 'The Girl m Scarlet,” etc. Paper cover, 75 cents, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

tHiriKtillc, the Motlel; or studien of I.ove. By Emile Zola', vaxihor oi “Natta” 

and” L’ Assam moir.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

TIse Shoj> (nirlM of Paris, with their Life and Experiences in a Large .Dry Goods Store. 
By Emile Zola, autlior oi” Nana.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or ^1.25 in Cloth. 

The Myst eries of the tloiirt of Fotiis Napoleosi. By Emile Zola* author of 
“Nana” and “ L' Assomntoir.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or ;^i.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Itcai^e: or, Ei* the Whirlpool. By Etnile Zola. With a Portrait of Rettee on the cover. 
Zola’s New Play of ‘'Renee” was dramatized from this book. Paper, 75 cents : Cloth, ;?i.25. 

Nana’s lErother. The Son of “ Gcrvaise ” and “Lantier” of ‘‘L’Assommoir.” By 
Emile Zola, author oi “ Nana.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

'riie <»irl in Scxirlet; or. The Lioves of Sil vere and Mielte. By Emile Zola, 
author of “Nana ” and “ E’ Assommoir.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or 5 * -25 in Cloth. 

A Miid liOve; or. The Abhe ami His Court. By Emile Zola, iKwihar oi “ Nana” 
and “ L’ Assommoir .” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or ^1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

The .loys of Fife. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana” and “ L’ Assommoir.” With an 
Illustration on cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or ^1.25 in Cloth. 

tllxinde’s Confession. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana,” “ L’ Assommoir f “Pot- 
Bouille,” “ Ihe Girl in Scarlet,” etc. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or 51-25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Pot-IEoniile. By Etnile Zola, author of “Nana,” “ L’ Assotnmoir,” etc. With an Illustrated 
Cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or 51-25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Her 'Fwo Husbands. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana,” “ L' Assommoir ,” “Pot- 
Bouille,” “The Girl in Scarlet f etc. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or 51-25 in Cloth. 

IK^I^ne. A Tale of Love and Passion. By Emile Zola, author of “ N^ana” and “ L’ Assotn- 
moir.” With a Picture of “ Hellne ” on the coi’er. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or 51-25 in Cloth. 

Albine ; «r. The Abbe’s Temptation. By Emile Zola, author of ‘‘A^awn; ” and “ L’ As- 
sommoir .” With a Picture of “ Albine ” on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper, or 51-25 in Cloth. 

MxtS'dxilen Ferat. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana.” With a Picture of “ Magdalen 
Ferat” on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or 5^-25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Tll^rfese Kaqnin. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana.” With a Portrait of “ Emile Zola ” 
on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in Cloth, Black and Gold. 


Pfir’ Petersons' American Translations of Etnile Zola' s works are for sale by all Booksellers and 
at all News Stands every tvhere , or cofiies of any one book, or more if them, will be sent to any one, 
to any place, at once , post-paid, on remitting the price of the ones wanted in a letter to the Publishers, 


T. B. PBTEKSON 


& BBOTJ1EU8, 


PliLlaileii>liia, Pa. 


MONTE-CRISTO’S DAUGH 

Petersons* Editions of << Ilonte-Cristo Ser 


MONTE-CKISTO’S DAUGHTER. Sequel to Alexander Du 
brated Novel of The Count of Monte-Cristof ’and Conclusion of 
DanilsT With an Illustrated Cover, with Portrait of Monte-Cristi 
ter, Zuleikaf on it. Every person that has read “ The Count of Mot. 
should get Monte- Cristds Daughter" at once, and read it. It is ci 
one large duodecimo volume, paper cover, price 75 cents, or $1.25 in 

EDMOND DANTES. The Sequel to “ The Count of Monte- Cristo, 
under Dumas. '■^Edmond Dantis" is one of the most wonderful roni, 
issued. Just at the point where ^^The Count of Monte-Cristo" ends, 
Dantls" takes up the fascinating narrative and continues it with 
power and absorbing interest unto the end. Every person that has 
Count of Monte-Cristo," should get Edmotid Dantes" at once, an 
Complete in one large duodecimo volume, paper, price 75 cents, or ^1.2 

THE COUNT OF MONTE-CRISTO. Petersons' A'^taa 
Edition, By Alexander Dumas. With full-page Engravings, illustn 
rious scenes in the work. Petersons' Edition of “ 'The Count of Moi 
IS the only Complete and Unabridged Edition of it ever translated, am. 
ceded by all to be the greatest as well as the most exciting and best 
novel ever printed. Complete in one large octavo volume of six hunc' 
with illustrations, paper cover, price One Dollar, or $1.50 bound in mor 

THE WIFE OF MONTE-CRISTO. ' Being the Continuation 
under Dumas' Celebrated Novel of '■^The Count of Monte- Cristo." 
Illustrated Cover, with Portraits of Monte- Cristo," "Haydee," and th. 
servant, ^^Ali," on it. Every person that has I'ead “ The Count of Jlloi 
should get *‘^The Wife of Monte- Cristo " at once, and read it. Compl 
large duodecimo volume, paper cover, price 75 cents, or ;^i.25 in doll 

THE SON OF MONTE-CRISTO. Being the Sequel to “ 7 / 
A/onte- Cristo." With an Illustrated Cover, with Portraits of the heroi 
work on it. Every person that has read "The Count of Alonte- Cristo 
Wife of Monte- Cristo f should get "The Son of Alonte- Cristo" at onci 
it. One large duodecimo volume, paper cover, price 75 cents, or $1.', 

THE COUNTESS OF MONTE-CRISTO. Being the Cor 
Alexander Dumas' Celebrated Novel of "The Count of Monte- Cr 
fully equal to that world-renowned novel. At the very commencem 
novel the Count of Monte Cristo, Haydee, the wife of Monte-Cristo, . 
ranee, the son of Monte-Cristo, take part in a weird scene, in which 
Albert de Morcerf and the Countess of Monte-Cristo also jiarticipate. 
in one large octavo volume, paper cover, price One Dollar, or 1^1.50 ii 

Petersons' editions of" The Monte-Cristo Series " arc for sale by all i 

ana at all A'e^vs Stands everywhere, or copies of any one or all of them, wih 

any one, post-paid, on remitting the price of the ones wanted to the Publtshcr^ 

T, B, rBTEBSOJS^ <€ BliOTIIEItS, rhiladclpl 


tua D* £• N. SonthwoHli’s Complete Works 

, :s. SOUTHW^RTH'S W0RK{ 

COMPLETE IN FORTY-THREE VOLUMES. 

4,' IN Ox\E LARGE DDOlfECIMO VOLUME, CLOTH, GILT, AT $1.50 EACH, OR $64.50 A SI V 
■ ' ' « of any one or a!! «rsll be sent to any one, pos^pai4, on receipt of remittances. 


outhivorth’ s works have become very popular, and they have great merits as fiction, for ■ . 

■ u>s \v?-s.'en many good novels for the fireside, and furnished an amazing fund of pure a7td heal '■ ~ 
u^.ij -ment to thousands of readers that have been, and to many thousands more to come. ' 
re. : t ' • ret of her hold upon her readers is, after her inventk/e getiius, in framing the plots of /, 
j ?■? , . nd m the brisk and 'ivide-a7vake inanner in which all the details are executed. There is . ? 

, ''f . . ■ listlessness, every movement is animated ; and she is not only a popular atid entertain^ 

, ;r , , ut amoral otte, as she inculcates propriety , both by precept and by the example of ; 

• • . -s, vdtich are calculated to do good to all readers. Her works should be read by all, . 

i-ficre 2 s not a dull line in any of them, and they are full of thrilling and startling interest, i 
i iers are drawn with a strong hand, and actually appear to live and tnove before us. Pt 
' . ' -.iriter, matt or wotnan, in America, is as popular, or has so wide a circle oj readers as ■' 

;>< % 'thworth. Pier stories are ahvays full of thrilling interest to lovers of the sensatioi , 

' f,.> Tterary merit they rank far above the works of atty author or authoress of works of t) 
i/'j. Southworth' s stories hxtve won their high place by her ability, attd anything with w), .. ■ 

, r ; 'rt,- is identified is certain to meet with hearty approvcil. The follo^ving are their names. 


‘'i 


LIST OF MRS. SOUTHWORTH’S WORKS. 

imael ; or, In the Depths. Being “ Self-Made.” 
v 5G f-Raised ; or, Prom the Depths. Sequel to “ IshmaeL” 
V ne Fortune Seeker. The Fatal Marriage. 

'j'be Lost Heiress. The Deserted Wife. 


^’‘ried for Her Life. 

Cruel as the Grave. 

Ti-^e Maiden Widow. 

'i r e Family Doom. 

C he Bride’s Pate. 

Tiie Changed Brides* 
ir Play. 

How He Won Her. 

V i jtor’s Triumph. 

A Beautiful Fiend. 

Tiie Spectre Lover. 

3 Prince of Darkness. 

\ 3 Christmas Guest. 

» .len Pride. 
ji3 Widow’s Son. 

5 3 Bride of Llewelisfn. 

' 3 Fatal Secret, 
h 3 Bridal Eve. 

) dia; Pearl of Pearl River. 


Love’s Labor Won. 

A Noble Lord. 

The Lost Heir of Linliihgovs 
The Artist’s Love. 

The Gipsy s Prophecy. 

The Three Beauties. 

Vivia ; or, the Secret of Pow . . 
The Two Sisters. 

The Missing Bride. 

The Wife’s Victory. 

The Mother-in-Law. 

The Haunted Homestead. 

The Lady of the Isle. 

Allworth Abbey. 

Retribution. 

The Curse of Clifton. 

The Discarded Daughter. 

The Mystery of Dark Holloi 
The Phantom Wedding. 


yOpies of any one work, or more, or a complete set of “A/rs. Southwo f- 
Vi ' will be sent to any one, to any address, at once, free of freight or postage, ■ 
/ ^1.50 for each one wanted, to T. B. Peterson < 5 p Brothers, Philadelphia. ■>’ ■■ 

. C" ; ddress all orders and remittances to the Publishers, 

L\ B. PETEKSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, i i. 


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